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"HE  IS  A  COMELY  YOUNG   MAN,    THOUGHT   KATRYNE."      (Page  30.) 


BEHIND 
MANHATTAN  GABLES 


A  STORY  OF  NEW  AMSTERDAM 

1663-1664 


BY 

EDWARD  AUGUSTUS  RAND 

Author  of  "  Fighting  the  Sea  Stories,"  "  Look-Ahead  Stories," 
"  White  Mountain  Stories,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK: 

THOMAS  WHITTAKER, 

2  &  3  BIBLE  HOUSE. 
1896. 


COPYRIGHT,  1896 
BY  THOMAS  WHITTAKER 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I.  Whence  and  Whither                                          i 

II.  On  an  English  Coast         .        .        .        .16 

III.  The  Knocker     ......      23 

IV.  In  a  New  World 34 

V.     Pieter,  the  Sot 57 

VI.     Pieter,  the  Scholar 69 

VII.     A  Mysterious  Box 84 

VIII.  One  Night  and  Afterward         ...      94 

IX.  In  the  Country  of  the  Savages  .        .        .no 

X.  The  Fort  and  the  Church          .        .        .126 

XI.  A  Service  at  the  Church  .        .        .        .138 

XII.     A  Master  Wanted 151 

XIII.  The  Wrong  Door 163 

XIV.  In  Savage  Land  Again       .        .        .  175 
XV.  What  Could  He  Do  ?        .        .        .        .     187 

XVI.     Geertruyd 195 

9 


XVII.  Big  Doors  on  Little  Hinges  .        .        .214 

XVIII.     Revelations 224 

XIX.  The  Savages  are  Coming       .        .        .     234 

XX.  Up  the  North  River       .        .        .        .248 
XXI.  The  Stockings  Hung  in  the  Chimney    .     283 

XXII.  The  Caller  Who  Never  Called       .         .301 

XXIII.  The  Coming  of  the  English  .        .        .326 

XXIV.  Changes.         .        .        .        .        .        .349 

XXV.  In  Saint  Nikolaas'  Church  Again    .        .     353 

XXVI.  A  Strange  Michaelmas  Morning     .         .     357 
XXVII.  What  Next?.        .        .     -.        .        .     363 

XXVIII.  Two  Maidens  Again      ....     375 


PREFACE. 


To  all  readers  interested  in  American,  English,  and 
Dutch  history,  let  me  say  this  prefatory  word.  I  have 
had  a  special  purpose  in  writing  this  book,  though  in  the 
form  of  a  story.  It  is  well  to  go  back  to  beginnings,  the 
seed  of  things.  I  am  to  tell  about  a  seed  so  very  small — 
the  seed,  the  beginning  of  a  grand  city.  One  autumn 
morning,  from  the  deck  of  a  Sound  steamer,  after  passing 
beneath  Brooklyn  Bridge,  I  looked  for  Trinity  Church 
spire.  There  was  the  church  at  the  head  of  Wall  Street. 
The  little  fragment  of  New  York  between  Wall  Street 
and  the  Battery  was  New  Amsterdam — New  York  in 
seed.  How  short  a  walk  the  Dutchman  of  1663  took  to 
go  around  the  beloved  borders  of  his  island  city  !  With 
profound  interest  I  have  gone  through  some  of  the  old 
streets  of  colonial  days  still  in  existence.  I  walked 
along  Bridge  Street,  or  De  Brug  Straat  of  olden  time. 
I  shut  my  eyes  and  imagined  that  I  saw  the  Katryne 
and  Geertruyd  of  this  story,  in  their  picturesque 
Dutch  dress,  coming  to  meet  me.  In  Broad  Street,  once 
De  Heeren  Graft,  I  thought  of  the  canal  that  pierced 
it,  a  fond  memorial  of  old  Holland.  I  looked  down 
and  saw  in  fancy  the  clumsy  barges  bringing  cargoes 
from  vessels  in  the  stream.  I  passed  Stone  Street,  and 
the  next  must  be  the  old-time  Beaver  Street,  I  said, 
De  Bever  Graft.  Yes  ;  and  I  thought  of  the  old-time 


Viii  PREFACE. 

ditch  there.  Some  busy  four-footed  tenants  of  its 
muddy  banks  had  probably  given  it  a  name  to  go  down 
the  centuries.  On  Wall  Street  I  closed  my  eyes  and 
walked  toward  Trinity  Church.  Would  I  meet  the 
Uncle  Pieter  of  this  story,  in  baggy  breeches,  on  his 
way  to  fight  the  Indians,  soon  slipping  into  the  open 
country  through  the  land-gate  in  the  "  wall,"  the  pali- 
sades once  set  up  in  pretentious  order  ?  Just  where  did 
New  Amsterdam's  famous  "  wall"  run  ?  I  was  close  to 
its  post-holes  ;  could  I  not  fancy  them  gaping  in  this 
to-day's  thoroughfare  of  so  many  of  the  money  kings  of 
the  nation  ?  How  speedily  1  had  come  to  the  end  of  the 
old  colonial  city  ! 

Outside  "  the  wall "  I  traversed  a  business  street  that  now 
has  glittering  heaps  of  jewelry— stones  with  eyes  of  fire. 
"  Maiden  Lane"  was  the  announcement  of  a  street  sign. 
I  thought  of  New  Amsterdam's  more  precious  diamonds, 
the  bright  eyes  of  its  maidens  bearing  along  this  very 
path  stores  of  old  Dutch  linen  to  their  weekly  tub,  a 
stream,  and  then  laughingly  racing  back  through  the 
gate  in  the  wall  to  their  homes.  What  more  picturesque 
origin  for  the  name  of  a  street — Maiden  Lane  ?  I  was 
now  outside  of  New  Amsterdam,  and  yet  how  short  a 
distance  from  Bowling  Green  !  Yes,  New  Amsterdam 
was  a  little  seed,  but  how  precious  !  In  story  form,  I 
have  dwelt  on  a  short  period  of  its  life  up  to  the  time  it 
became  New  York,  the  Dutch  element  nominally  suc- 
cumbing to  the  English  element  ;  the  Dutchmen,  though 
clinging  to  their  much-loved  town,  and  then  both  ele- 
ments side  by  side  going  on  steadily,  slowly  but  surely, 
to  develop  into  the  grandeur  of  America's  present 
metropolis. 


PREFACE.  ix 

Would  a  resident  of  New  York  fully  appreciate  all 
the  things  in  the  past  helping  to  make  it  grand  ?  Would 
an  outsider,  rejoicing  as  a  broad-minded  American 
in  New  York's  greatness,  understand  everything  con- 
tributing to  that  success?  Would  a  Hollander  know 
what  grand  foundations  some  of  his  own  kin,  it  may  be, 
laid  here  in  America  ?  Would  a  young  student  of  English 
history  know  of  that  early  New  York  to  which  brave  and 
adventurous  Englishmen  came,  to  live  and  rule  there  ? 
Then  all  these  must  be  students  in  the  homes,  the  shops, 
the  streets  of  little  New  Amsterdam. 

My  student  life,  a  portion  of  which  was  passed  in 
New  York  City,  prepared  me  to  enter  upon  the  pleasant 
work  in  these  pages,  and  a  like  agreeable  path  of  in- 
vestigation opens  before  the  feet  of  those  who  would 
study  New  York  in  its  beginnings.  Yoluminous  is  the 
literature  upon  the  subject,  and  to  different  authors  I 
signify  in  various  notes  my  indebtedness.  In  the  col- 
umns of  the  Christian  Intelligencer  1  have  found 
valuable  data  about  colonial  Dutch  history.  I  would  not 
forget  "  A  Large  Dictionary,  English  and  Dutch,"  a 
(t  Groot  Woordenboek, "  venerable  and  beloved,  found 
in  the  Boston  Public  Library.  A  part  of  the  volume 
looks  as  if,  having  received  a  blow  from  the  vane  of 
a  windmill,  it  had  been  knocked  into  a  Holland  dyke, 
then  fished  out  and  left  to  dry  on  the  deck  of  an  old 
Dutch  coaster.  Dutch  words,  like  English  words,  are 
not  always  given  the  same  way.  This  dictionary  is  re- 
sponsible for  most  of  the  Dntch  spelling  in  my  book, 
and  as  it  was  published  in  1708,  u  T' Amsterdam,"  it 
seemed  ancient  enough  to  fit  the  present  necessity,  and  I 
have  frequently  thumbed  its  worn  pages.  E.  A.  R. 


BEHIND   MANHATTAN    GABLES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

WHENCE   AND   WHITHER  ? 

IT  was  a  day  in  May.  The  year  was  1663.  The  sky 
was  of  a  vivid  blue,  as  if  there  had  been  an  energetic 
Dutch  cleaning  overhead.  The  wind  was  at  a  gentle 
play,  sending  light  round  tufts  of  snowy  cloud  across 
this  field  of  azure,  as  if  it  were  rolling  balls  at  invisible 
nine-pins.  This  harmless  game,  played  with  Dutch  de- 
liberateness,  was  going  on  above  the  streets  of  the  tiny 
colonial  city  of  New  Amsterdam,  on  the  island  of  Man- 
hattan, in  the  province  of  New  Netherland. 

Petrus  (in  the  Dutch,  Pieter)  Stuyvesant,  one-legged 
soldier,  brave,  inflammable,  wilful,  loving  his  own  way 
and  yet  loyal  to  Holland's  ways,  was  governor  of  this 
Dutch  seaport  in  the  New  World. 

To  Katryne  Schuyler,  a  maid  of  nineteen,  it  did  not 
make  any  difference  who  might  be  governor  and  what 
might  be  his  characteristics,  this  morning  at  least.  That 
freshly  polished  sky  of  blue,  that  spring  wind,  those 


2  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

clouds  so  gracefully  rolling  across  the  heavens,  did, 
though,  make  a  difference  in  her  feelings  as  she  stood 
before  a  house  built  long  enough  in  this  New  World  to 
be  old-fashioned. 

"  I  must  get  out  of  this  and  see  how  all  the  fields  out- 
side look,"  murmured  Katryne.  "Now,  I  suppose 
father  and  mother  don't  want  to  go." 

No  ;  they  had  no  disposition  to  take  a  spring  ramble 
outside  of  New  Amsterdam.  Hans  Schuyler  and  his 
wife,  Lysbet,  were  generally  slow  in  their  moods  and 
movements.  In  this  community  on  Manhattan  Island 
life  would  sometimes  be  fierce  and  wild  as  Holland's 
Zuyder  Zee  in  a  storm.  Holland,  though,  had  its  dykes 
fencing  in  sluggish  canals  that  North  Sea  tempests  might 
reach  and  yet  could  not  stir  them  below  the  surface. 
Hans  and  Lysbet  preferred  this  second  form  of  life,  the 
sluggish  canals  guarded  from  the  sea.  Hans,  though  so 
sleek  and  sleepy-looking,  had  indeed  shown  that  he  could 
wake  up  and  bristle  like  a  Zuyder  Zee  tempest  ;  but 
timid,  lazy,  selfish,  the  tempest  was  not  his  choice. 
Lysbet,  too,  had  been  known  to  fight ;  but  even  more 
than  her  husband  she  loved  a  sleepy  day,  the  sun  going 
down  in  a  still,  drowsy  sky. 

In  such  a  quiet  hour  this  was  their  favorite  location  ; 
they  would  sit  before  the  chimney  tiles  brought  over 
from  Holland,  and  dreamily  contemplate  the  fat,  pink 
cows  standing  knee-deep  in  sleepy,  pink  waters.  If  the 
cows,  suddenly  stalking  out  of  those  sunset-stained  waters 


WHENCE   A^D    WHITHER  ?  3 

and  taking  Hans  and  his  vrouw  as  bundles  of  fodder, 
had  begun  to  make  a  supper  of  them,  Hans  and  Lysbet 
did  not  look  as  though  they  would  have  made  any  oppo- 
sition. 

This  was  not  Katryne's  temperament.  She  had  in  her 
veins  some  of  the  impulses  of  that  quick,  fierce,  per- 
sistent energy  that  in  spiteful  little  craft  went  out  of 
Holland's  harbors  and  dared  to  fight  with  big  Spanish 
galleons,  or  they  grappled  with  England's  navies,  and 
kept  on  fighting  till  Holland's  flag  waved  in  triumph 
above  every  masthead  or  lay  under  foot,  crimsoned  with 
the  fighter's  last  blood.  It  was  this  spirit  of  dash  and 
endurance  that  would  sometimes  flash  into  Katryne's 
black  eyes  and  kindle  them  into  flaming  signals  that  one 
dealing  with  her  would  heed  at  once.  Not  that  Katryne 
was  a  girl  of  combative  and  vixenish  temper.  She  had 
anything  save  the  disposition  of  a  shrew,  but  she  was 
spirited.  "With  her  energy  and  vitality  went  that  fortu- 
nate companion  of  a  rarely  failing  cheerfulness.  She 
had  a  sunny  way  of  looking  at  things,  and  there  was  a 
wise  disposition  to  accommodate  herself  to  the  circum- 
stances that  might  environ  her.  Now,  Hans  and  Lysbet 
Schuyler  never  could  be  anything  else  than  Dutch  folk 
who  came  from  Holland  long  before  Katryne  saw  the 
light.  They  had  not  changed.  They  were  still  Dutch, 
and  they  talked  Dutch.  The  English  element  in  New 
Amsterdam  was  growing.  In  Long  Island,  it  was  grow- 
ing faster  still.  In  New  England,  it  made  such  progress 


4  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

that  it  threatened  to  grow  to  those  dimensions  that  would 
make  New  Amsterdam's  life  as  a  Dutch  town  a  serious 
uncertainty.  Pieter  Stuyvesant  thought  New  England 
aggressive  and  annoying.  He  had  reason  to  watch  her. 

Hans  and  Lysbet  did  not  like  the  English  people. 
When  arrivals  from  England  were  reported  in  New  Am- 
sterdam's shops,  the  only  attention  Hans  and  Lysbet 
paid  this  emigrant  element  was  to  avoid  it  and  cling 
more  closely  to  their  home.  Hans  would  smoke  longer 
before  the  old  Dutch  fireplace,  and  Lysbet,  in  her  chair, 
would  sleep  before  the  pink  cows  in  pink  waters  longer 
than  usual.  The  cloud  from  Hans'  pipe  would  hang 
lower  and  lower,  grow  denser  and  denser,  till  he  and  his 
spouse  looked  at  last  like  two  Dutch  ships  anchored  in  a 
fog.  It  is  true,  the  actual  arrival  of  two  Dutch  tubs 
from  dyke-land,  the  decks  swarming  with  emigrants 
smoking  long  pipes,  would  not  have  surprised  Hans  and 
Lysbet  into  a  great  violence  of  rejoicing.  In  a  mood  of 
placid  satisfaction,  they  would  have  contemplated  it, 
giving  short,  muffled  grunts  of  complacency.  They 
came  away  from  the  spectacle,  though,  more  determined 
to  talk  Dutch,  to  associate  only  with  Dutch  people  dur- 
ing the  week,  and  worship  with  them  on  Sunday  ;  lying 
down  at  night  to  dream  of  Holland,  waking  up  in  the 
company  of  a  resolute  wish  that  their  descendants  might 
not  see  anything  but  windmills,  canals,  and  houses  made 
of  bricks  imported  from  Holland. 

On  the  other  hand,  Katryne,  the  young  woman  whose 


WHENCE   AND  WHITHER  ?  5 

thoughts  were  breezy  with  the  vitality  that  in  some  way 
had  reached  her  from  valorous  Dutch  skippers,  lived  in 
full  and  animated  contact  with  her  surroundings.  She 
thoughtfully  eaw  the  English  element  everywhere  com- 
ing in  and  penetrating  the  Dutch  life.  She  heard,  when 
she  could  not  see,  how  in  New  England  the  life  there 
was  steadily  gaining,  pressing  its  way  like  a  rising  tide 
out  of  Connecticut  and  over  to  Long  Island.  She 
adapted  herself  to  her  surroundings.  She  made  friends 
with  the  English  about  her.  She  did  not  go  back  on 
her  old  Dutch  friends,  but  she  did  go  forward  almost 
zealously  to  make  new  English  acquaintances.  There 
was  in  Katryne's  nature  the  element  of  championship 
that  moved  her  to  go  out  and  befriend  any  party  moved 
upon.  When  any  jealous  Dutch  element  frowned  upon 
the  English  new-comers,  Katryne  stood  up  in  open  de- 
fence of  the  latter.  If  somebody  else  may  have  despised 
the  English  tongue  and  mocked  it,  she  had  seen  its 
probable  advantage,  and  resolved  to  learn  it  thoroughly. 
She  did  not  forsake  the  beloved  old  Dutch  words  be- 
cause she  picked  up  new  English  words  when  liv- 
ing once  in  Massachusetts,  or  that  now  arrived  as  a  part 
of  the  cargo  of  coasters  from  New  England,  or  the 
stouter  craft  from  Old  England.  Sometimes  this  ques- 
tion would  come  before  her  with  peculiar  interest :  What 
if  English  ways  and  English  people  should  ultimately  tri- 
umph at  New  Amsterdam  ?  She  sometimes  wanted  to  ask 
Heer  Director  Pieter  Stuyvesant  this  question  as  she 


6  BEHIND   MANHATTAN  GABLES. 

saw  him  stumping  along  so  energetically ;  but  the 
thought  of  the  thunder-cloud  that  might  blacken  on  his 
face  at  the  mention  of  English  rule  repelled  her. 

In  the  above  various  ways  there  was  an  unlikeness  be- 
tween Katryne  and  Hans  and  Lysbet  Schuyler.  The 
unlikeness  was  so  pronounced  that  it  was  no  wonder  she 
sometimes  asked  herself  if  they  really  could  be  her  par- 
ents, if  she  really  could  be  their  child. 

The  difference  was  apparent  this  morning  of  the  spring, 
when  she  wanted  to  fly  outside  of  the  palisades  of  New 
Amsterdam. 

"Child,  why  wilt  thou  go  roving?"  asked  Lysbet, 
when  she  knew  of  Katryne's  wish. 

"  Oh,  mother,  ask  the  wind  why  it  wants  to  fly  ?  May 
I  go?" 

"  Better  stay  here." 

"  And  sit  still  2" 

"  Yes,  rather  than  be  a  wind  blowing  down  North 
River." 

"  I  can't  sit  still,  mother.  May  I  be  the  wind  for  an 
hour  ?" 

Lysbet's  head  went  slowly  up  and  down  like  a  solemn 
old  pendulum,  and  the  young  Dutch  wind  flew  away. 

"I  don't  understand  that  girl,"  murmured  Lysbet, 
looking  after  the  wind.  "  When  will  she  settle  down 
and  be  a  woman  ?" 

When  Katryne  was  leaving  the  house,  she  passed  the 
old  servant,  Johanna,  white-haired  Johanna.  It  seemed 


WHENCE   AND   WHITHER  ?  ? 

to  Katryne  as  if  Johanna  must  have  lived  in  the  family 
always,  and  would  she  not  continue  to  live  always  under 
the  Schuyler  roof,  Johanna  and  the  family  and  the  house- 
life  all  going  on  forever  ?  Johanna  was  spinning. 

"  This  spring  air  makes  me  frisky,  Johanna." 

"  Like  one  of  the  spring  lambs,"  said  Johanna,  hush- 
ing her  wheel  and  looking  up  sympathetically.  Katryne 
and  Johanna  always  seemed  to  understand  one  another. 

11 1  am  going  into  the  fields  outside  the  palisades  a  lit- 
tle while.  Wilt  thou  not  go  ?" 

"  I  really  think  I  ought  to  be  spinning,  dear.  Does 
thy  mother  not  want  to  go  ?' ' 

"My  mother?" 

This  was  Katryne's  tongue  ;  but  was  Katryne's  head 
behind  it  ?  Could  her  own  self  be  speaking  ? 

To  Katryne's  lips  now  came  a  question  at  whose  ven- 
turesomeness  she  in  after  days  often  wondered.  It  came, 
though,  and  the  gates  opened  at  once,  and  out  it  hopped  ; 
"  Johanna,  am  I  really  the  child  of  my  father  and 
mother?" 

At  first  Johanna  was  amused.  "  That  proves  itself, 
does  it  not  ?  If  the  child  of  thy  father  and  mother, 
that  ends  it,  does  it  not  ?" 

She  thought  Katryne  would  laugh  ;  but  as  Johanna 
looked  at  her,  what  a  serious  face  she  saw  ! 

It  was  so  very  earnest,  it  startled  Johanna.  The  old 
nurse  at  once  became  as  grave  as  Katryne. 

"  Why  was  that  question  asked,  dear  ?" 


8  BEHIND   MANHATTAN  GABLES. 

"  Because  Johanna  knows  all  there  is  to  be  known 
about  us.  Johanna,  Johanna,  am  I  the  child  of  the 
people  1  live  with  ?" 

Johanna  reflected.  She  had  a  very  kindly  face,  very 
sincere  and  trustworthy.  In  some  old  pictures  of  saints 
that  had  become  travellers  and  survived  the  rough  voy- 
age from  Holland,  Katryne  had  picked  out  the  most  sym- 
pathetic and  trusty,  and  renamed  it  "  Johanna." 

"  Yes,  Katryne,  I  know  all  about  thee,"  began  Johan- 
na. "  To-morrow  I  will  tell  thee,  for  thou  shouldest 
know." 

"  Oh,  I  thank  thee,  dear,  dear  Johanna  !"  exclaimed 
Katryne,  embracing  the  old  nurse  and  kissing  her  again 
and  again.  "  I  know  thou  wilt  be  a  saint." 

"  I  never  shall  be  that,"  said  Johanna,  mournfully. 

Then  this  maid  of  Manhattan  tripped  away. 

Outside  the  palisades,  the  wooden  wall  of  New  Am- 
sterdam, the  sight  of  the  open  country  started  up  anew 
the  rambling  impulses  within  Katryne.  Nobody  was  in 
sight,  no  maid  bearing  linen  to  an  energetic  bath,  no 
traveller  in  the  road  that  crawled  up  the  island,  no  work- 
er in  any  field.  Then  she  could  run  as  hard  as  she 
wished,  and  she  turned  her  face  toward  East  River  glee- 
fully. 

"  I  wonder  if  my  mother" — her  thoughts  tripped 
over  this  word — "  if — if — Yronw  Schuyler  ever  ran  so 
fast?" 

She  laughed  as  she  imagined  Vrouw  Schuyler  begin- 


WHENCE   AND  WHITHER  ?  9 

ning  the  course  in  a  skip,  but  ending  it  in  a  roll.  Ka- 
trjne  reproved  herself  for  this  disrespect,  but  still  sped 
on.  Now  she  would  have  it  that  Katryne  was  a  bird  ; 
then  Katryne  was  a  cloud — not  one  of  the  lazy  cotton- 
balls  up  in  the  sky,  but  one  of  the  fast-driving  masses  of 
vapor  a  storm  would  urge  across  Long  Island.  Then 
Katryne  was  the  breezy  spring  wind.  She  ran  to  a  rock 
beside  the  restless  blue  water,  sat  down,  and  pushing  back 
the  dark  curls  falling  over  her  clear  sunny  eyes  and  down 
upon  the  dimples  making  such  pretty  little  nests  in  her 
fair  cheeks,  she  looked  off  upon  the  bright,  broad 
river. 

Ah  !  there  were  the  lazily  moving  cloud -images  down 
in  the  water,  slowly  going  somewhere.  Where  did  they 
come  from  ?  Where  were  they  going  ?  Pilgrims  adrift 
for  Long  Island  ?  Whither  then  ?  Perhaps  they  were 
as  wise  about  those  questions  "  whence"  and  "  whither" 
as  Katryne,  for  could  she  say  whence  she  came  and 
whither  she  were  going  ? 

"  Ah  !  there  is  a  chip  !"  cried  Katryne  joyfully,  like  a 
child  finding  a  toy. 

The  chip  was  floating  on  the  water  ;  but  did  it  know 
whence  it  started,  in  what  shadowy,  murmuring  forest 
of  pine  it  was  born,  and  from  what  trunk  it  was  hewed, 
flying  into  the  river  near  by  ?  What  if  it  were  an  Eng- 
lish axe  sending  this  chip  into  the  Connecticut  River 
near  the  spot  where  once  had  been  a  Dutch  fort,  the 
daring  little  voyager  floating  down  to  this  point  and  aim- 


10  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

ing  at  New  Amsterdam  ?  It  would  vex  Pieter  Stuy- 
vesant  to  know  of  such  an  origin  of  this  chip.  But  did 
anybody  know,  could  even  the  chip  give  any  informa- 
tion about  itself  ?  As  well  off,  though,  as  Katryne 
Schuyler.  She  could  not  tell  a  word  about  herself. 

"  Oh,  there  is  a  log  !"  exclaimed  Katryne. 

Did  this  dumb,  stupid  block  of  wood  know  about  it- 
self ?  As  well  off,  though,  as  Katryne  Schuyler. 

"  Oh,  there  is  a  ship  !" 

Here  Katryne  jumped  from  her  throne  and  threw  up 
her  hands. 

A  ship  under  full  sail  ! 

It  was  to  Katryne,  who  had  been  looking  down,  a 
sudden  picture  of  beauty,  as  if  a  long  lily-stem  had  shot 
up  to  the  surface  and  in  a  moment  its  budding  head  had 
burst  into  snowy  bloom.  Whence  had  that  ship  come  ? 
Where  was  the  distant  port  that  sent  it  out  ?  This  ship 
seemed  as  much  without  definite  origin  as  Katryne 
Schuyler.  She  could  easily  guess,  though,  where  it 
might  be  going  :  to  New  Amsterdam,  with  its  ancient 
fort  and  creaking  windmills  and  wooden  "  wall,"  and 
Heer  Director  Pieter  Stuyvesant,  around  all  which  ob- 
jects were  closely  clinging  clusters  of  colonial  homes. 
Not  there  just  yet,  for  as  the  ship  neared  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  watcher  its  sails  began  to  stir  like  the  folds 
of  a  wind-shaken  flower,  and  then  one  by  one  these  can- 
vas petals  dropped,  till  the  masts  projected  bare  as  any 
naked  stalks  in  the  December  fields. 


WHENCE   AND   WHITHEK  ?  11 

Katryne  not  only  saw  these  sails  fluttering  down,  but 
she  heard  the  harsh  clanking  of  a  chain  as  a  rusty  red 
anchor  tumbled  down  into  the  blue  water.  Next,  a  boat 
put  off  from  the  ship.  She  wondered  who  the  people 
were  in  that  boat.  Would  they  land  at  the  very  rock 
that  had  been  the  throne  of  this  fair  spring  queen  ?  She 
was  curious  to  know.  Were  they  honorable  traders  or 
were  they  suspicious  mariners  stooping  to  practices  that 
inight  be  classed  as  piratical  ?  Strange  things  were  said 
sometimes  about  some  of  the  bronzed  faces  seen  at  New 
Amsterdam's  drinking-tables — for  instance,  about  one 
Van  Schen — here  Katryne's  thoughts  were  interrupted 
by  the  sight  of  a  form  rising  up  from  the  stern  of  the 
boat,  waving  gallantly  his  sword,  and  saluting  her ! 

"Captain  Dirk  van  Schenkel  !"  cried  Katryne  ex- 
citedly. 

If  a  monster  of  the  deep,  an  octopus,  had  thus  leaped 
up  and  swung  a  hideous  tentacle  above  the  boat,  Katryne 
could  not  have  been  more  surprised.  She  did  not  like 
Captain  Dirk  van  Schenkel,  one  of  her  father's  ac- 
quaintances, and  who  had  several  times  given  her  to 
understand  that  Captain  Dirk  van  Schenkel  would  like 
to  make  Katryne  Schuyler  his  vrouw. 

"  The  beast  !"  said  Katryne. 

She  quickly  rose  from  the  rock  and  hurried  away. 
From  the  rear  of  a  clump  of  bushes  she  gave  a  hasty 
look  backward.  The  boat  had  now  reached  the  rock, 
and  Van  Schenkel  was  climbing  upon  it. 


12  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

"  A  big  black  spider — ugh  !"  murmured  Katryne. 

The  clump  of  bushes  reached  by  her  stood  on  the 
edge  of  a  grove  through  which  she  sped  as  if  savages 
were  after  her.  Gaining  the  other  side  of  the  grove, 
she  hastily  looked  up  to  the  sky  above  the  open  fields. 
The  sky  was  troubled.  The  former  snow-white  clouds, 
losing  their  lustre,  were  changing  into  patches  of  dusky 
vapor  with  livid  edges.  Would  they  turn  into  black 
spiders  ?  The  spring  wind,  too,  was  losing  its  softness 
and  warmth.  It  had  a  rough,  chilling  touch,  like  that  of 
Dirk  van  Schenkel's  hand  when  one  day  he  tried  to 
snatch  Katryne's  hand  and  she  pulled  it  away  as  if  a 
spider  had  fastened  on  it  and  bitten  it.  This  time  she 
went  home  by  way  of  the  "  water-gate/'  where  the  wall 
of  palisades  met  East  River,  and  how  very  glad  she 
was  to  see  the  gables  of  her  home,  with  their  edges  cut 
like  a  flight  of  steps  !  Into  the  house  she  ran  as  eagerly 
as  she  had  left  it,  and  was  about  closing  the  door  when 
she  shuddered  and  looked  back. 

"  Oh,  that  black  spider  !    If  he  should  follow  me  !" 

She  shut  the  door  hastily,  as  if  to  close  it  on  a  black, 
repulsive  form  wriggling  up  the  steps. 

Once  at  home,  she  went  into  every  kind  of  work  as 
rapidly  and  intensely  as  possible,  that  she  might  with 
this  activity  drive  off  the  unpleasant  memories  of  the 
morning.  She  thought  often  of  the  promise  of  Johan- 
na, who  was  absent  that  day  most  of  the  time  looking 
after  some  of  Hans'  affairs  whose  settlement  required 


WHENCE  AND   WHITHER  ?  13 

absence  from  the  house.  Johanna  was  expected  to  stroll 
along  De  Paerl  Straat  (the  water  front)  and  learn  if  a 
certain  Dutch  vessel  might  be  in,  to  go  to  several  shops 
and  ascertain  what  furs  were  bringing,  and  ask  Pieter 
Stuyvesant  himself  about  the  trade.  Katryne  went  up- 
stairs early  when  evening  came.  "  The  sooner  I  go  to 
sleep,"  she  argued,  "  the  sooner  I  shall  wake  up  to  hear 
Johanna  tell  me  where  I  came  from.  Hark  !  was  that 
the  sound  of  rain  on  the  windows  ?" 

Yes  ;  the  rain  had  come  and  was  now  tapping  on  the 
little  old-fashioned  panes  that  had  been  sent  to  New  Am- 
sterdam from  Old  Amsterdam.  She  thought  how  dreary 
it  must  now  be  on  the  Water,  so  springlike  and  gentle  in 
the  morning  !  Could  she  see  Dirk  van  Schenkel's  vessel  ? 
She  shivered.  She  was  safe  at  home,  though,  and  quickly 
went  to  her  last  duty  before  closing  her  eyes  in  sleep.  It 
was  to  look  at  a  psalm  from  an  antique  Bible  with  leather 
covers,  a  window  turned  heavenward,  and  brought  from 
the  same  old  city  as  the  house  windows.  Katryne  was 
very  particular  about  her  morning  and  evening  look  out 
of  the  window  in  the  leather  frame.  On  her  knees  she 
kept  looking  that  same  blessed  way,  and  some  of  the 
shining  ones  who  love  to  slip  out  of  the  heavenly  city 
and  comfort  pilgrims  halting  on  their  knees  must  have 
come  down  those  steps  in  the  gables  and  visited  Ka- 
tryne's  chamber.  There  was  a  restful  look  upon  her  pure, 
loving  face  as  she  lay  down,  and  she  was  not  troubled 
about  tho  beginning  or  the  end  of  her  life.  God  knew 


14  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

the  start  of  the  stream,  and  He  guided  its  flow,  and  God 
would  speak  through  Johanna  in  the  morning  and  tell 
Katryne  all  that  it  was  best  for  Katryne  to  know. 

She  slept  on  peacefully  hour  after  hour.  By  and  by 
she  was  half  conscious  that  the  inquisitive  dawn  was  try- 
ing to  look  into  her  chamber.  Then  did  she  hear  a  step 
on  the  stairway  ?  Was  it  that  of  Johanna  coming  up  to  tell 
her  all  about  her  life  and  where  she  came  from  ?  Was 
it  good,  kind  Johanna,  already  fit  to  be  a  saint  ?  No  ;  it 
was  not  Johanna's  step,  which  was  rather  light  and 
quick,  in  sympathy  with  Katryne's,  whose  step  Hans  did 
not  fancy.  This  was  slow  and  heavy,  and  something  that 
came  wearily  to  Katryne's  bed. 

Was  it  the  ugly,  black  spider  of  the  previous  day  ? 
No,  not  that,  for  the  face  was  not  malignant,  though 
there  was  something  black  about  the  object.  This  black 
peculiarity,  as  it  hung  down,  divided  like  wings.  Ka- 
tryne was  confusedly  wondering  whether  it  were  a  black 
angel,  when  it  suddenly  spoke,  and  in  what  a  tone  !  So 
slow,  so  solemn,  so  strange,  and  Katryne  could  never 
forget  it ! 

"  Katryne,  didst  thou  see  Johanna  yesterday  ?" 

"  O  mother,  how — how  thou  didst  frighten  me 
in  that  black  shawl  !  Oh,  yes,  I  saw  her.  Hasn't  she 
got  home  ?  I  saw  her,  and  she  was  so  good,  and  1  told 
her  she  would  be  a  saint — going  to  be  one,  mother — and 
she  said  she — she — would — " 

She  stopped.     She  dared  not  say  that  Johanna  was 


WHENCE   AND   WHITHEK  ?  15 

going  to  tell  her  whether  she  were  Lysbet  Schuyler's 
child.  It  was  such  a  relief  to  know,  though  she  might 
not  say  it,  that  Johanna  was  going  to  be  a  bridge,  taking 
her  over  to  an  island  of  mystery,  and  Katryne  was  reflect- 
ing upon  this,  when  the  messenger  in  black,  solemnly, 
slowly  said  : 

"  Johanna — is — dead  !" 

"  What  ?     What  ?     Oh,  where  ?" 

"  In  her  room." 

Katryne,  more  like  a  wind  than  ever,  seemed  to  fly 
out  of  her  room  and  up  into  Johanna's,  and  there,  on 
the  slaap-bank,  or  sleeping  bench,  was  a  sweet-faced  image 
that  Johanna  had  left  behind — an  image  such  as  our 
dead  to-day  leave  behind  ;  an  image  from  which  we 
cannot  seem  to  break  away,  and  yet,  oh,  how  it  bruises 
and  wounds  the  agonized  heart  that  clings  to  it  ! 

Katryne  threw  herself  passionately  upon  this  sweet 
semblance  of  Johanna  and  sobbed  violently,  while  the 
now  heavy  storm  of  rain  broke  heart  after  heart  of 
crystal  against  the  old-fashioned  window-panes  that  had 
come  all  the  way  from  Amsterdam. 


CHAPTER  II. 

ON   AN    ENGLISH    COAST. 

ALL  day  the  wind  had  been  calling.  The  tide  ran 
steadfastly  toward  the  wind  for  a  while,  and  then  the 
fickle  thing  turned  and  ran  from  it.  That  was  the 
tide's  answer  to  the  call  of  the  wind.  Did  it  call  to  the 
birds  ?  They  must  have  heard  it,  and  it  may  have  quick- 
ened their  music  ;  but  they  did  not  care  to  obey  the  call, 
for  this  wind  would  have  taken  them  far  out  to  sea, 
where  the  waves  tossed  and  foamed  all  day,  where  was 
neither  tree  nor  shrub  for  their  re&ting- place.  No  ;  the 
wind  did  not  mean  the  birds,  and  they  flew  back  from 
the  shore  to  the  snugly  sheltering  pines. 

To  what  did  it  call  ? 

To  the  ship  anchored  at  the  mouth  of  a  little  river. 
The  voice  of  the  wind  was  in  the  rigging,  now  gently 
humming  like  an  idle  expostulation,  then  growing  to  an 
impatient  command.  The  ship  chafed  at  its  moorings 
and  wanted  to  be  away,  and  gladly  obeyed  the  wind  as 
soon  as  possible  after  the  giving  of  an  order  by  a  voice 
that  had  the  resonance  of  a  northwester — 

"  Cast  off  that  line  !" 

A  woman  with  a  weary,  worn  face  and  gray  hair  sat 


OK  AN  ENGLISH   COAST.  17 

by  the  window  of  an  old  English  home  and  looked  off 
upon  the  blue  waters  stretching  to  the  west.  She 
watched  the  ship  receding  with  a  stately  grace  from  the 
shore.  The  woman  was  Mrs.  Mary  Wharton,  the  widow 
of  the  Rev.  John  Wharton,  for  many  years  the  rector 
of  that  parish.  Her  only  child,  Harold  Wharton,  was 
still  a  boy  in  her  thought,  but  actually  he  was  nineteen, 
and  from  the  stern  of  that  receding  vessel  was  watching 
his  rapidly  dwindling  home  and  wondering  at  which 
window  his  mother  might  be  sitting,  anxiously  watching 
Harold's  ship. 

Between  the  two  parties  of  watchers,  between  the  ship 
and  the  house,  was  a  third  party.  His  name  was  Abram 
Tillotson.  He  was  a  person  of  a  size  the  reverse  of  for- 
midable. His  peculiarity  was  in  his  eyes,  small,  bright, 
and  sunken  deep  under  shaggy  gray  brows.  His  look 
about  the  eyes  suggested  that  of  an  animal,  and  one  al- 
most wondered  when  the  creature  might  spring  out  of  his 
lair.  Other  than  this,  his  face  had  a  very  kindly,  human  air, 
and  his  voice  was  peculiarly  agreeable,  but  it  went  with 
a  tongue  that  could  dart  out  honey  and  poison  in  the 
same  throw.  He  was  a  lawyer,  and  had  the  care  of  sev- 
eral estates,  including  that  of  the  Whartons.  Damag- 
ing stories  had  been  told  about  his  covetousness,  and 
these  had  reached  Mrs.  Wharton's  ear,  and  she  wanted  to 
detach  him  from  her  service.  But  he  was  like  a  leech 
whose  tenacity  is  only  equalled  by  its  greed.  Mrs. 
Wharton  could  not  seem  to  get  rid  of  him  ;  and  when 


18  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

she  remembered  his  voice,  so  kindly  and  rarely  musical, 
she  sometimes  did  not  wish  to  get  rid  of  him.  There, 
though,  were  those  uncanny  eyes,  so  penetrating,  so  see- 
ing from  afar,  and  so  seeing  into  things  ahead. 

This  man  with  the  eyes  now  directed  those  eyes 
toward  the  house,  and  muttered,  "  Ah  !  another  is  there 
at  the  window.  Hannah  Martin,  the  nurse,  it  must  be. 
Those  simple  fools  are  thinking  of  meeting  their  sons  in 
America.  Look  out  !  The  Atlantic  is  a  deep  ditch. 
Don't  try  to  cross  it,  my  ladies  !" 

His  guess  was  correct.  Nurse  Hannah  Martin  was 
there  at  the  window,  sympathetically  stroking  the  thin 
hands  of  her  mistress,  and  talking  away  about  Harold 
and  George  Martin.  The  latter  was  a  sailor  in  whom 
the  rover  was  very  much  developed,  and  he  had  roved 
among  America's  mysteries.  He  and  Harold,  years 
ago,  settled  it  that  their  mothers  must  go  to  America. 

Abram  Tillotson's  sharp  little  eyes  had  now  shot  sea- 
ward a  cutting  glance  like  a  knife,  and  he  muttered  : 

"Two  fools  at  a  window  are  expecting  things  that 
will  never  happen.  On  board  that  ship  is  a  third  sim- 
pleton. He  is  watching  his  old  home.  He  says  his 
father  named  him  '  Harold,'  and  told  him  that  he,  Har- 
old, must  be  like  one  of  the  knights  King  Arthur  sent 
out  to  right  mankind.  Ha  !  ha  !  Then  there  was  a  lit- 
tle of  the  money-making  spirit,  I  should  say,  in  his 
father,  for  before  his  death  he  planned  that  Harold 
should  go  to  the  Western  World  and  meet  his  Uncle 


ON  AN  ENGLISH   COAST.  19 

Robert — another  fool — and  learn  how  to  cheat  savages 
and  buy  furs.  That  Uncle  Robert,  always  hopping 
about  !  Harold  will  miss  him  and  bring  back  from  the 
West  about  as  much  as  Henry  Hudson,  whom  his 
crew  set  adrift  in  that  icy  bay  off  somewhere." 

Harold  was  still  looking  homeward.  He  was  thinking 
of  his  mother.  He  was  thinking  of  his  father  also.  In 
his  hand  was  a  crumpled  strip  of  paper  on  which  his 
mother  had  written  down  a  few  bits  of  advice  his  father 
hoped  Harold  would  follow  :  "  Go  slow  when  thou  art 
angry.  Do  not  go  at  all  when  thou  knowest  not  the  way. 
Speak  not  when  thou  knowest  not  what  to  say.  If  thou 
go  sure,  thou  art  all  the  more  Hkely  to  go  strong.  In  all 
thy  going  and  coming,  be  a  faithful  knight  for  God." 

English  youth  for  two  generations  had  been  keenly 
alive  to  the  westward  calls  echoing  in  every  Atlantic- 
sweeping  breeze.  The  daring  voyages  of  the  Cabots,  of 
Hudson,  Smith,  Gosnold,  Gilbert,  Pring,  Frobisher, 
Davis,  and  others,  had  brought  wind  after  wind  from 
the  sea  to  fan  the  interest  kindled  in  a  Western  world. 
Many  young  men  had  gone  toward  the  sunset.  Many 
were  going.  The  Rev.  John  Wharton's  brother,  Robert, 
Harold's  uncle,  was  not  by  any  means  in  his  youth.  He 
had  written  Harold  from  New  Amsterdam,  but  his  move- 
ments were  not  restricted  to  that  Dutch  colony.  The 
headquarters  of  his  activity  generally  were  in  New  Eng- 
land, but  he  had  declared  his  intention  some  time  to 
buy  property  in  New  Amsterdam  and  remain  there,  as 


20  BEHIND   MANHATTAN  GABLES. 

he  liked  the  climate  better  than  that  of  Boston.  He  had 
promised  to  care  for  Harold  when  he  might  arrive,  and 
the  ubiquitous  uncle  sent  directions  to  land  at  New  Am- 
sterdam. 

Harold  responded  quickly  to  these  solicitations.  He 
had  a  venturous  nature,  and  wanted  to  find  out  what 
under  the  Western  sun  might  tempt  a  young  fellow's 
ambition.  He  liked  new  things.  His  bright  face  had 
the  look  of  one  asking,  or  ready  to  ask,  a  question.  He 
was  never  a  dull  listener,  but  listened  as  one  expecting 
to  reach  some  unhitherto  undiscovered  isle  even  in  the 
most  dreary  ocean  of  talk.  He  wan  ted  now  to  see  a  new 
world  beyond  the  waters.  He  wondered  how  it  might 
look.  Was  there  anything  to  be  learned,  to  be  discov- 
ered ?  He  shared  in  that  glorious  impulse  of  discovery 
which  has  brought  to  England's  brows  the  imperishable 
honors  laid  there  by  her  rough  but  strong  and  manly 
navigators.  As  he  went  to  this  new  world  he  felt  that 
he  stood  on  the  threshold  of  a  new  life.  With  eager 
eyes  he  looked  into  the  future,  carrying  in  his  bosom 
just  as  earnest  an  ambition  for  the  newest  and  the  most 
wonderful  and  the  best  things  as  any  young  man  of  this 
earnest  age  to-day,  when  he  confronts  all  the  wonders  of 
a  civilization  of  steam  and  electricity.  And  he  had,  too, 
the  knightly  element  in  his  character.  His  father  had 
not  in  vain  trained  him  to  go  out  as  a  knight  of  King 
Arthur,  the  old  hero  monarch,  who,  tradition  says,  sent 
out  his  knights  in  quest  of  high  adventure.  Harold 


ON    AN   ENGLISH   COAST.  21 

Wharton  had  been  taught  if  a  thing  were  right,  though 
weak,  by  it  he  must  stand,  and  help  it  into  strength. 
He  had  heard  about  the  feeble  settlements  in  the  midst 
of  the  savages  of  the  West.  He  thought  of  possible  op- 
portunities to  defend  the  weak  ;  and  if  those  savages 
needed  a  disciplinary  hand,  his  hand  was  ready.  He 
would  never  strike  a  weak  enemy,  though,  and  he  would 
make  that  enemy  a  friend  if  he  could.  Was  not  this  young 
knight's  name  Harold  ?  Had  not  his  father  told  him 
that  it  came  to  England  across  the  water  from  the  far- 
ther shores  of  the  North  Sea,  and  sometimes  meant 
champion  ?  How  many  of  the  old-time  Harolds  had 
gone  out  to  valiant  deeds,  and  this  one  now  leaving  Eng- 
land had  a  bosom  swelling  with  pride  to  think  of  the 
glorious  future  that  might  be  before  him  ! 

But  there  was  that  face  on  the  shore  still  looking  sea- 
ward and  sneeringly.  He  had  his  thoughts  upon  the 
subject  ;  "Sir  Harold  is  going  to  a  great  country,  he 
probably  thinks.  The  savages  will  sober  our  young 
knight.  And  those  women  watching  his  ship" — he 
turned  toward  the  house — "  why,  they  are  stooping  !  I 
verily  believe  it  is  as  if  they  were  going  to  pray.  Ha  ! 
ha  !  what  good  will  that  do  ?' ' 

Abram  Tillotson  had  again  guessed  right.  A  mother 
was  bowing  that  she  might  pray.  She  had  told  Harold 
that  his  mother's  prayers  would  always  follow  him  wher- 
ever he  went,  and  she  hoped  they  would  be  a  wind  to 
bring  him  to  a  heavenly  port. 


22  BEHIND  MANHATTAN  GABLES. 

But  Harold's  ship  was  now  rapidly  receding  from  the 
watchers.  It  was  feeling  the  long  swell  of  the  sea,  dip- 
ping into  every  ocean  valley,  rising  with  every  billow, 
while  the  wind  fiercely  piped  in  the  rigging.  Things 
on  shore  were  confusedly  mixing.  The  outlines  of  the 
trees  and  the  houses  were  blending,  and  he  could  not 
distinguish  his  home  from  the  neighboring  oaks.  Soon 
there  was  a  fusing  of  all  things  ashore  into  a  wave  of 
green  above  a  wave  of  blue.  The  vessel,  too,  was  round- 
ing a  point,  and  all  the  land  about  his  home  was  going 
out  of  sight.  One  moment  longer  he  felt  that  he  had  a 
connection  with  Old  England,  and  then  came  a  homesick 
feeling  as  he  exclaimed,  "  Gone  !" 

To  those  in  the  Wharton  home  there  was  a  melting 
away  of  a  patch  of  misty  white  canvas  into  a  misty 
wall  of  gray.  Every  sign  of  a  vessel  disappeared 

"  Gone  !"  moaned  one  woman. 

"  Gone  !"  moaned  another  woman. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   KNOCKER. 

"  KATKYNE  !     Katryne  !" 

Katryne  was  polishing  an  ancient  brass  knocker  that 
hung  suggestively  outside  the  door  of  Hans  Schuyler's 
house,  and  seemed  to  say,  "  Lift  me  and  drop  me  hard  ! 
Pound  !' '  Katryne  ceased  to  rub  when  her  name  was 
called  so  imperatively. 

"  Very  soon,  mother.  It  is  almost  clean,"  replied 
Katryne,  rubbing  the  knocker  still  harder. 

It  was  not  a  very  elegant  piece  of  brass,  but  a  substan- 
tial one — a  thing  meant  for  use  and  to  withstand  the 
usage  of  generations.  The  prevalent  style  of  the  New 
Amsterdam  knocker  was  a  dog  or  a  lion.  These  animals 
have  been  famous  guardians.  Who  has  not  read  of  that 
grim-eyed  Cerberus  guarding  the  gates  of  the  lower  re- 
gions ?  Who  does  not  know  of  gentle  Una  and  her  attend- 
ant lion,  and  who  has  not  heard  of  the  famous  rows  of 
stone  lions  leading  up  to  the  portals  of  Egyptian  temples  ? 
The  animal  on  the  Schuyler  knocker  guarding  the  family, 
while  arousing  it  at  a  caller's  arrival,  was  a  dog  or  a  lion 
even  as  he  might  be  viewed  from  a  point  at  the  right  of 
the  door  or  the  left.  Seen  from  the  right,  he  was  an 


24  BEHIND   MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

ugly  Cerberus,  but  from  the  left-hand  view- point  he  was 
Una's  benign,  dignified,  noble  guardian,,  Two  persons 
might  give,  therefore,  varying  accounts  of  the  same 
knocker.  Katryne  enjoyed  this  peculiarity  thoroughly. 
She  had  two  names  for  the  knocker.  On  one  si  Jo  it  was 
Brutus  ;  on  the  other,  Caesar  ;  and  Caesar  was  the  lion. 

As  Katryne  rubbed  away,  at  first  she  was  congratulat- 
ing herself  that  this  was  the  most  peculiar  knocker  in 
New  Amsterdam,  little  realizing  how  close  and  impor- 
tant its  connection  might  be  with  her  personal  history. 
Then  her  thoughts  flew  to  another  subject,  and  not  an 
agreeable  one.  She  had  for  years  occupied  as  her  room 
a  large  comfortable  chamber.  At  Johanna's  death  Ka- 
tryne was  directed  to  vacate  this  roomy  apartment,  and 
take  Johanna's  small  room  as  hers.  Katryne  did  not 
like  this.  She  said  nothing,  however.  She  had  a  happy 
disposition  to  find  advantages  in  disadvantages,  and  she 
began  at  once  to  say  that  Johanna's  room  was  snug  and 
cosey.  It  was  higher  up  than  hers,  "  closer  to  heaven," 
she  said.  It  was  in  the  rear  of  the  eastern  gable,  and  it 
had  one  window  from  which  Katryne  could  see  farther 
out  upon  East  River.  And  then  it  was  more  removed 
from  family  jars  ;  and  then,  again,  Johanna  had  left  a 
beautiful  atmosphere  of  peace  behind  her.  Yes,  Johanna 
would  seem  to  meet  Katryne  when,  tired  and  vexed,  she 
was  coming  up  the  stairs,  and  Johanna  would  say, 
"  Peace,  Katryne  !"  Then  Katryne  could,  in  the  rain, 
hear  its  tapping  very  plainly  on  the  roof,  and  the 


THE    KSTOCKER.  25 

sound  to  her  ear  was  not  only  delightfully  musical,  but 
it  emphasized  the  security  of  her  shelter.  Apart  from 
this,  the  present  occupant  of  Johanna's  room  had  some 
uneasy  thoughts.  Her  father  did  not  attempt  to  fill  Jo- 
hanna's place  with  another  servant,  but  Katryne  was 
asked  to  double  her  tasks  and  take  on  burdens  that  Jo- 
hanna once  carried.  Had  Hans  Schuyler  grown  poor  ? 
Could  he  not  afford  to  hire  a  servant  ?  His  pockets  were 
fat  as  ever,  and  he  could  afford  the  expense  of  servant 
hire.  Why,  then,  did  he  not  hire  a  servant  ?  Why 
was  Katryne  asked  to  do  the  servant's  work  ?  Katryne 
loved  work.  She  enjoyed  activity.  She  was  not  trou- 
bled by  any  false  idea  of  work,  that  it  was  menial  and 
below  her.  She  was  troubled,  though,  by  this  reflec- 
tion :  would  Hans  Schuyler  have  sent  his  own  child  up 
to  occupy  Johanna's  room,  and  then  called  that  child 
down  to  do  Johanna's  work  ? 

The  old  question  was  now  pressing  with  new  force 
upon  Katryne's  thoughts  as  she  rubbed  away  on  the 
knocker  :  was  that  selfish,  stolid  soul,  Hans  Schuyler, 
her  father  ?  As  for  Lysbet,  she  had  grown  quite  tender 
since  Johanna's  death,  and  yet  Lysbet  was  not  a  twin 
soul,  and  could  she  be  "  mother"  ?  Just  here  a  cousin 
of  Hans  was  going  by — gray- bearded  Pieter  van  T wil- 
ier. He  was  often  at  the  house.  He  was  generous, 
frank,  sympathetic.  When  Katryne  was  a  child,  he 
would  fondle  her  as  tenderly  in  his  arms,  people  said,  as 
if  she  were  his  own  daughter.  As  she  sat  upon  his  knee, 


26  BEHIND   MANHATTAN  GABLES. 

he  would  tell  her  about  bold  Henry  Hudson  and  his  ven- 
turous voyage  up  North  River  in  1609  ;  about  fights  with 
the  savages,  and  about  hairbreadth  escapes  from  their 
clutches  ;  about  bold  men  of  the  sea  who  fought  for  plun- 
der. Then  he  would  tell  her  about  New  Amsterdam 
and  the  early  days  of  its  settlement,  the  privations  and 
dangers  of  the  colonists,  and  about  Pieter  Minuit,  the  first 
"  Heer  Director,"  or  Governor,  in  1626.  Katryne's  eyes 
would  grow  bigger  and  blacker  and  stiller,  but  the  light  in 
their  depths  would  come  to  the  surface  and  glow  brighter 
than  ever.  She  could  seem  to  talk  readily  with  Pieter 
van  Twiller  on  any  subject,  approach  him  in  any  time  of 
her  trouble,  ask  any  question  about  subjects  perplexing 
her.  When  she  now  saw  him  coming  down  the  street  she 
wanted  to  leave  the  knocker  and  run  to  him  and  ask 
who  her  father  and  mother  might  be.  The  feeling 
of  attraction  gave  way  to  one  of  repulsion,  arid  she  glad- 
ly turned  back  to  her  labors  upon  the  knocker. 

Pieter  van  Twiller,  a  kind-hearted,  self-denying  mor- 
tal sometimes,  was  a  pig  the  most  of  the  time — a  pig  at 
his  trough — a  sot.  He  was  now  staggering  down  the  street. 

She  sighed  twice.  One  little  sigh  was  for  herself, 
and  a  big  one  was  for  him.  "  Poor  Pieter  !"  she  ex- 
claimed, "  I  wish  1  could  help  Pieter.  If  Pieter  would 
only  stop  drinking  !"  She  stole  a  pitying  glance  at 
Pieter,  and  then  turned  to  the  old  brass  knocker.  "  This 
old  thing  needs  a  hard,  hard  rubbing  !' '  she  declared,  and 
then  rubbed  with  vigor. 


THE    KNOCKEK.  27 

"  Katryne  !" 

This  summons  from  above  came  in  a  cold,  drowsy 
tone. 

"  What  is  it,  mother?" 

"  Don't  forget  Heer  van  Schenkel." 

"  Why,  no  !" 

"  As  if  I  could  forget  that  beast  !"  Katryne  told  her- 
self.  "  That  old  captain  is  coming  here,  and  I  hate 
him.  There  goes  mother's  window." 

It  dropped  softly,  drowsily,  as  if  going  to  sleep. 

"  Mother  wants  me  to  get  through  soon  and  see  him. 
He  is  almost  twice  as  old  as  I  am,  and  I  am  not  going  to 
marry  him.  If  I  loved  him  I  would  marry  him,  though 
he  were  fifty-five.  Now,  I  know  what  he  wants  to-day, 
and  any  other  day  he  comes.  He  has  a  grand  house, 
and  to  make  one  home  for  the  two  parties — for  these 
Schuylers  and  Dirk  van  Schenkel — would  be  truly  a  fit- 
ting thing,  he  says.  Then  I  should  see  him  oftener,  and 
I  cannot  bear  him.  I  wish  I  could  rub  him  out  of  the 
way,  even  as  I  rub  out  this  spot  !" 

One  moment  she  smiled  to  think  of  the  complete  dis- 
appearance of  that  hard,  tough  object,  Captain  Dirk  van 
Schenkel.  Then  she  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  oh,  what  is  this  ? 
Johanna  never  told  me  of  this  !" 

She  had  seen  a  little  line  running  up  and  down  one 
side  of  the  knocker.  As  she  rubbed  away,  the  line 
widened.  Chancing  to  give  a  hard  upward  stroke  with 
her  hand,  the  upper  portion  of  the  knocker  suddenly 


28  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

yielded  before  the  blow  and  made  a  slight  upward  slide. 
It  was  a  blow  on  the  nose  of  the  dog  and  the  lion,  both 
Cerberus  and  Leo,  Brutus  and  Caesar,  and  they  did  what 
the  originals  never  liked  to  do — retreat !  Katryne  was 
now  in  a  state  of  great  excitement.  This  apparently  im- 
movable old  house  guardian  was  separable  into  two  por^ 
tions,  was  it  ? 

"  Oh,  it  slides  up  !"  she  cried  in  delight,  clapping  hei 
hands.  She  had  enough  of  the  curiosity  of  human  na- 
ture to  wonder  if  a  still  more  energetic  pressure  would 
not  compel  a  farther  retreat.  She  boldly  seized  both 
Brutus  and  Caesar  by  the  nose,  and  pressed  upward  still 
harder.  "  Oh,  yes,  it — it  is  sliding  up  !  Oh,  farther — 
farther  ;  why,  it  all  comes  off  !" 

Yes,  both  dog  and  lion  had  ingloriously  retreated, 
leaving  the  house  entirely  unprotected  ! 

No,  not  that ;  for  what  did  Katryne  see  in  this  hollow 
knocker,  whose  upper  half,  sliding  along  metallic  grooves, 
had  now  entirely  forsaken  the  lower  half  ?  In  that 
cavity  was  another  knocker,  much  smaller  than  the  first, 
but  very  pretty — an  angel  with  folded  wings  ! 

"  Under  something  ugly,  something  beautiful  !"  ex- 
claimed Katryne. 

There  she  stood  in  a  happy  kind  of  bewilderment, 
amazed  at  the  discovery,  her  face  radiant  with  an  expres- 
sion of  childlike  delight.  Her  next  thought  was,  "  What 
a  good  place  this  would  be  to  hide  anything  in  \"  or,  "If 
I  loved  that  Captain  van  Schenkel — which  I  don't— we 


THE    KNOCKER.  29 

would  put  love  notes  in  this  box,  and  the  angel  would 
keep  them,  and  who  besides  us  would  be  the  wiser  ?" 

"  Katryne  !"  called  out  a  voice  less  soporifically  than 
before. 

"  Almost  through  !"  replied  the  young  woman  at  the 
door. 

This  time  there  was  no  soft  thud  of  a  window  drowsily 
falling,  but  it  came  down  with  energy. 

Katryne  was  startled  out  of  her  delighted  mood  and 
into  one  of  alarm.  What  had  she  done  to  the  knocker  ! 
What  if  Lysbet  should  roll  suddenly  down  to  the  door 
and  look  out  ! 

Katryne  quickly,  nervously  slipped  Brutus  and  Csesar, 
Cerberus  and  Leo,  back  into  their  places,  and  began  to 
rub  the  knocker  again.  Her  fingers,  though,  seemed 
paralyzed  with  fear  ;  for  what  if  Lysbet  did  appear  ? 
And  yet  she  had  a  delightful  sense  of  ownership — owner- 
ship of  a  secret  !  To  think  that  she  alone  of  all  the 
world  knew  about  it  !  A  box  to  hide  things  in,  say  love 
notes  !  She  could  not  help  wishing  that  there  were  some 
one  masculine  in  the  world  she  was  in  love  with,  and 
then  as  soon  as  possible  she  would  write  a  letter  to 
him  and  put  it  in  this  box,  even  though  he  never 
got  it  ! 

"  Nobody  loves  me  and  1  love  nobody,"  she  moaned  ; 
"  but  1  have  a  bit  of  paper  in  my  pocket,  and  I  might 
put  it  in  and  play  it  was  a  love  letter  to  my  darling." 

Seizing  Brutus  and  Caesar,  and  shoving  their  profiles 


30  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

back,  she  was  inserting  the  paper,  when  again  sounded  a 
voice. 

This  was  not  from  above,  but  from  the  street.  It  was 
not  a  sleepy  old  voice,  but  one  youthful  and  quick  mov- 
ing ;  not  feminine,  but  masculine ;  not  articulating  Dutch, 
but  English  ;  and  it  inquired  pleasantly.  "  Could  you  tell 
me-" 

Katryne  gave  a  nervous  jump.  She  restored  the 
knocker  to  its  normal  condition,  and  then  turned  about. 
Of  course  it  was  not  Dirk  van  Schenkel,  though  she 
was  expecting  to  see  him.  Dirk  van  Schenkel  could 
not  speak  in  that  musical,  gracious  way.  Katryne  saw  a 
young  man  that  she  thought  might  be  of  her  own  age. 
He  was  not  dressed  like  a  New  Amsterdamer  or  an  ar- 
rival from  Holland.  As  his  speech  declared  that  he  was 
English,  so  his  dress  showed  that  he  must  be  from  Eng- 
land. He  was  bowing  as  courteously  to  Katryne  as  any 
old-time  knight  she  had  ever  heard  about.  Whatever 
the  nationality  of  one  bowing  in  that  fashion,  Katryne 
concluded  that  he  might  be  classed  under  that  cosmo- 
politan title,  "  gentleman." 

"  He  is  a  comely  young  man,"  thought  Katryne,  fall- 
ing promptly  in  love  with  his  brown  locks,  rosy  cheeks, 
and  bright  blue  eyes.  "  What  does  he  want  ?  He  has 
just  come,  1  know,  in  some  vessel  from  England." 

He  now  finished  his  sentence. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  the  way  to  a  tavern,  for  I  am  a 
stranger  ?" 


THE    KNOCKER.  31 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  Katryne  in  ready  English,  while 
descending  the  old-time  stoop,  her  polishing-cloth  in  hand. 
"  You  go  this  way,  that  way,  this  way,"  she  motioned 
with  her  hands,  "  then  around  a  corner,  and  you  will  see 
it  before  you — a  tavern.  You  will  find  it." 

Until  he  was  out  of  sight  she  wanted  to  watch  him  as 
he  walked  away,  this  cavalier  from  England  ;  but  there 
was  the  sound  of  a  rising  window  above,  and  she  knew 
what  order  was  coming.  She  did  not  wait  for  this,  but 
cried,  "  Yes,  mother,  I  am  coming." 

This  was  in  a  very  dejected  tone,  for  that  young  Eng- 
lish knight  was  still  in  plain  sight.  Hastily  scampering 
up  to  the  door,  she  entered  the  house. 

The  young  man  had  gone  but  a  few  steps  when  he 
turned  about  to  speak  again  to  Katryne. 

"  She  said,"  he  was  reflecting,  "  she  said — wasn't  she 
pretty  !  She  said  this  way,  that  way,  this  way,  then 
round  the  corner  ;  but  which  way,  which  corner  ?  How 
her  eyes  lighted  up  !  I  don't  know  but  I  ought  to  go 
back  and  ask  her.  Oh,  she  is  gone  !" 

He  quickly  returned  and  planted  himself  before  the 
knocker,  and  was  about  to  raise  it  and  summon  her  when 
his  conscience  began  to  accuse  him  of  returning  for  a 
false  purpose.  His  hand  was  on  the  knocker,  but  he  did 
not  feel  at  ease  in  asking  for  information  which  he  had 
in  substance.  Neither  the  roar  of  a  lion  nor  the  bark  of 
a  dog  was  heard.  No  sound  aroused  the  fair  maid 
within  and  brought  her  to  the  door.  Having  obeyed 


32  BEHIND  MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

conscience  and  done  something  commendable  in  his 
silence,  would  not  conscience  let  him  do  something  ques- 
tionable ?  He  had  detected  Katryne  in  the  manipula- 
tion of  the  knocker,  though  she  was  entirely  ignorant  of 
it.  He  pushed  up  the  face  of  the  knocker,  and  there 
was  a  slip  of  paper.  He  had  a  young  man's  curiosity, 
and  opening  the  paper,  proceeded  to  examine  it. 

"  Nothing,"  he  said.  "  Something  ought  to  be  here, 
though." 

He  had  in  his  pocket  a  slip  of  paper  on  which  were 
two  of  his  father's  rules,  and  copied  on  the  voyage  from 
those  his  mother  had  given  him  :  "  Go  slow  when  thou 
art  angry.  Do  not  go  at  all  when  thou  knowest  not 
the  way." 

"  There,"  reflected  Harold  ;  "  this  may  do  vast  good. " 

At  the  same  time  he  was  blushing  as  if  he  had  stolen 
twenty  guineas  and  had  been  caught  in  the  act  of  steal- 
ing. 

Harold  replaced  Cerberus  and  Leo,  Brutus  and  Csesar, 
and  then  softly  stepped  away,  saying  to  conscience  that 
he  had  done  perhaps  a  very  kind,  philanthropic  thing, 
and  it  ought  to  condone  any  liberty  he  had  taken  with  an 
old  Dutchman's  knocker.  The  next  moment  he  was 
saying,  "  What  if  the  Dutchman  and  not  that  girl  should 
examine  that  knocker?"  He  hurried  away.  His  heart 
beat  much  faster  as  he  thought  of  this  possibility,  and  a 
pan  of  coals  seemed  to  be  burning  in  each  cheek  ;  but  he 
dared  not  go  back.  He  heard  a  voice  at  an  open  win- 


THE    KNOCKER.  33 

dow  near  him  saying  gruffly,  "  Why,  Katryne,  where 
hast  thou  been  so  long  ?" 

It  was  not  a  woman's  voice. 

What  Bluebeard  was  daring  to  make  himself  thus  ob- 
noxious ?  Harold  Wharton  was  yet  to  meet  Hans  Schuy- 
ler,  the  man  with  the  gruff  voice. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IN     A     NEW     WORLD. 

HAKOLD  WHABTON  had  found  himself  one  morning  in 
a  new  world.  The  long,  rough  sea  voyage  was  over. 
When  he  left  his  berth  and  went  on  deck,  the  vessel, 
pushed  by  a  vigorous  breeze,  was  rapidly  sailing  up  a 
roomy  bay.  He  sprang  for  the  bows. 

"How  now,  blockhead?"  shouted  the  gray-bearded 
captain.  "  Forrard  there,  if  you  will !" 

And  out  upon  the  bowsprit  crawled  Harold,  anxious 
to  get  as  near  this  new  world  as  possible. 

11  Have  an  eye  there  !  You  will  fall  overboard," 
warned  the  captain,  "  and  pay  for  a  fool's  folly." 

Harold  did  not  hear  him.  The  light  of  an  eager  ex- 
pectancy was  kindled  in  his  blue  eyes,  and  the  wind  blew 
his  locks  into  a  tangle  about  his  fair  forehead. 

The  captain  laughed.  "  What  does  that  chap  think 
he  will  see  ?"  he  muttered. 

Harold  saw  two  canoes. 

"  Savages  !"  was  his  exciting  comment.  He  detect- 
ed smoke  arising  from  what  he  thought  must  be  a  wig- 
wam. "  Ho  !  a  third  canoe  !"  he  shouted. 


IN   A   NEW   WORLD.  35 

These  few  signs  of  life  gave  a  sign,  too,  that  he  was  in 
a  new  country. 

The  vessel  sped  as  if  at  a  race,  and  then  came  a  run 
through  a  strait  which  modern  nomenclature  knows  as 
"The  Narrows."  Its  waters  to-day  are  roughened  by 
the  keels  of  a  world-wide  commerce  ;  then,  Harold's  ves- 
sel was  its  only  occupant.  Beyond  this  strait  the  water 
widened  out  into  the  roomy  tract  we  know  as  the  New 
York  Upper  Bay.  To-day  the  funnels  of  many  steam- 
ships trail  behind  them  the  long  streamers  of  their 
smoke  ;  that  day  this  sailing  vessel  from  England  lifted 
its  proud  canvas  in  a  solitary  glory.  What  captain  of 
a  mighty  ocean  steamer  pressing  up  New  York  Bay  can 
feel  the  exultation  of  that  young  Englishman  astride 
the  bowsprit  of  a  small  sailing  craft  in  the  year  1663? 
Proudly  it  crossed  the  lonely  bay  and  dropped  its  rusty, 
rattling  anchor  chains  off  some  kind  of  an  odd  seaport 
town,  one  of  whose  most  prominent  objects  was  a  wind- 
mill inside  a  fort.  This  settlement  was  held  in  the  ever 
loose  and  yielding  yet  never  relinquished  embrace  of  two 
large  currents,  one  from  the  north,  the  other  from  the  east, 
their  waters  mingling  in  the  large  blue  bay  Harold's  ves- 
sel had  traversed.  After  his  solitary  voyage  it  was  a  relief 
to  count  three  ships  lying  in  asocial  cluster  at  anchor,  and 
also  to  see  all  those  dwellings  ahead — -a,  life  ashore  and 
grouped  in  a  town.  Harold  saw  a  canoe  pulled  up  on 
the  beach,  and  there  must  be  a  settlement  of  savages 
somewhere,  he  reflected,  life  in  a  mass  of  wigwams  ;  but 


36  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

ahead  was  the  life  of  a  civilized  town  ;  odd,  not  just 
English,  and  yet  human,  and  hence  homelike. 

He  soon  went  off  in  a  boat  that  the  captain  ordered 
ashore.  He  wished  to  find  a  tavern  that  might  receive 
him  and  his  baggage  ;  he  wanted  to  hunt  up  his  Uncle 
Robert,  and  search  in  the  shipping  for  some  trace  of 
George  Martin,  the  young  English  sailor  ;  and  he  wished 
also  to  see  New  Amsterdam. 

The  vessels  tied  to  their  anchors,  the  houses  with  their 
notched  gables,  the  fort  around  which  huddled  many 
buildings  as  if  seeking  protection,  the  windmill  he  had 
just  spied,  other  windmills,  also,  interested  him  exceed- 
ingly. This  was  the  New  World,  and  it  awakened  as 
eager  a  curiosity  as  the  big,  bewildering  New  York  of 
to-day  can  possibly  arouse  in  a  lad  from  the  woods  of  the 
Adirondacks.  Harold  had  an  abundance  of  time  to  in- 
spect his  new  world,  and  he  was  bound  to  do  it  thor- 
oughly and  leisurely.  He  would  find  a  tavern,  hunt  up 
Uncle  Robert  and  his  friend  George,  and  see  New  Am- 
sterdam all  at  the  same  time. 

"  I  must  take  a  good  look  at  that  fort,"  declared  Har- 
old, "  and  some  day  see  the  inside  of  it." 

New  Amsterdam's  fort,  though  it  had  earthen  walls, 
was  a  pretentious  structure  in  the  days  of  its  greatest 
strength.  There  were  several  buildings  within  the  fort, 
and  Harold  pronounced  one  of  these  a  church.  He 
gazed  a  few  minutes  at  a  sentinel  pompously  striding  his 
brief  course,  at  the  arms  of  a  windmill  that  rose  above 


IN   A    NEW   WORLD.  37 

the  walls  and  that  was  lazily  threshing  the  air,  and  then 
watched  the  Dutch  flag  floating  wearily  under  the  sky  as 
if  it  would  be  a  relief  to  have  the  sunset  hang  out  its 
fiery  signal  and  say  that  Holland's  flag  might  come 
down. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  the  fort  Harold  found  a  build- 
ing that  at  once  attracted  his  attention.  It  was  a  struc- 
ture of  stone,  and  in  after  days  he  heard  the  people 
call  it  White  Hall,  and  learned  that  it  was  the  governor's 
house,  or  that  of  the  "  Heer  Director."  Amid  the  bus- 
tling life  of  New  York  streets  to-day  is  preserved  the 
memory  of  Governor  Stuyvesant's  house,  for  Whitehall 
Street  is  a  reminder  of  the  ostentatious  house  of  stone 
not  far  from  little  New  Amsterdam's  fort. 

And  though  he  did  not  know  it  then,  Harold  saw  the 
Heer  Director  or  Governor  Pieter  Stuyvesant,  himself. 

"  That  is  somebody,  and  not  one  of  the  common  peo- 
ple," declared  Harold,  standing  in  front  of  that  stone 
house. 

This  "  somebody"  wore  a  long  black  velvet  coat  deco- 
rated with  buttons  of  silver  and  trimmed  with  silver 
lace.  His  crimson  doublet  also  was  ornamented  with 
silver  buttons  and  silver  lace.  His  hair,  worn  long,  fell 
upon  a  wide  white  collar.  In  his  broad-brimmed,  high- 
crowned  hat  was  a  feather.  Knee-breeches  were  fash- 
ionable in  those  days,  long  hose  also,  and  shoes  with  sil- 
ver buckles,  and  Pieter  Stuyvesant  wore  all  of  those 
equipments  that  he  could  ;  but  doing  his  best,  he  could 


38  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

wear  only  one  silken  hose,  one  shoe,  and  one  silver 
buckle,  for  Pieter  Stuyvesant  had  but  one  leg  !  His 
substitute  for  a  second  leg  has  become  famous  in  history. 
It  was  said  at  one  time  that  he  had  a  silver  leg.  This 
can  be  accounted  for.  His  false  leg  was  compassed  with 
silver  bands,  and  probably  they  were  conspicuous  ones. 
Hence  the  legend  of  a  silver  leg.  That  is  the  way  many 
stories  swell  into  exaggerated  dimensions,  and  a  simple 
story  becomes  a  wonderful  legend.  The  Indians'  title 
for  him  was  "  Wooden  Leg."  For  years  they  were  by 
day  thorns  in  his  hands  and  thorns  in  his  side,  and  by 
night  they  were  thorns  in  his  pillow.  On  one  occasion, 
when  the  Indians  felt  aggrieved,  they  had  an  angry 
meeting,  and  promptly  wished  to  know  if  "  Wooden 
Leg,  in  whom  they  had  confided  as  their  protector,  in- 
tended to  tear  down  the  houses  which  were  to  shelter 
them  in  stormy  and  wintry  weather.  "*  This  instance  illus- 
trates the  depth  of  the  impression  that  Pieter  Stuy- 
vesant's  artificial  limb  made  on  the  savages.  Eventually 
Wooden  Leg  got  the  better  of  his  dusky  enemies,  and 
proved  to  them  that  a  stump  of  wood  and  a  lot  of  energy 
behind  it  might  be  more  powerful  than  all  their  legs  of 
flesh  and  bone  combined.  They  respected  this  leg  of 
wood.  He  was  a  resolute  soul,  a  man  of  strong  will, 
who  did  not  always  round  out  and  polish  his  words,  but 
shot  them  forth  plain  and  rough,  no'  matter  who  might 
be  in  the  way. 
*  History  of  New  Netherland,  E.  B.  O'Callaghan,  Vol.  II.,  p.  75. 


IN"   A    NEW   WORLD.  39 

"  I  should  not  want  to  have  him  against  me  in  a  con- 
troversy,' '  thought  Harold,  as  he  tried  to  read  the  strong 
face  out  before  the  House  of  Stone.  "  1  dare  say  he 
would  tell  me  where  a  tavern  is  ;  but  1  think  I  won't 
ask  him,  nor  anybody  else.  I'll  find  it  myself.  I  don't 
see  anything  like  a  tavern-keeper,  but  I'll  hunt  one  up. " 

In  this  matter  of  obtaining  information  people  are 
very  different.  Some  set  everybody  to  work  hunting 
up  the  needed  knowledge,  and  the  more  trouble  they 
make  their  friends,  the  better  they  seem  to  like  it. 
Others  have  a  pride  of  discovery,  and  like  personally  to 
hunt  up  a  place,  and  on  a  fool's  errand  may  steal  round 
for  a  tiresome  hour.  Harold  himself  wanted  to  find  a 
tavern  and,  in  the  mean  time,  see  New  Amsterdam,  the 
new  world  directly  before  his  eyes  and  feet. 

Starting  from  the  fort,  which  street  should  he  take  ? 
In  whatever  direction  he  went,  his  travels  would  soon 
come  to  an  end,  for  across  New  Amsterdam  stretched 
that  wall  to  which  I  have  referred.  It  was  only  a  high 
stockade,  a  fence  of  upright  pieces  of  timber,  a  row  of 
palisades.  Humble  though  its  construction,  the  stout 
walls  of  Troy  or  the  lofty  towers  of  Babylon,  and  that 
long,  straggling  piece  of  masonry  in  China,  have  not 
been  more  famous  to  those  inside  than  was  New  Amster- 
dam's wooden  fence  to  New  Amsterdam.  Hence  came 
the  name  of  a  street  along  this  very  site,  a  street  famous 
in  the  financial  world,  "Wall  Street.  Who  that  gets  into 
its  fierce  money- whirl  thinks  of  the  sturdy  palisades  inside 


40  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

of  which  ambitiously  dreamed  a  little  old-time  seaport, 
while  outside,  with  stealthy  step,  stole  the  savage  from 
the  forest  ?  Other  streets  of  New  York  can  boast  of  a 
very  interesting  history  back  of  their  names.  Canal 
Street  runs  where  the  settlers  made  a  canal  to  link  the 
marshes  on  the  right  and  left  of  Manhattan  Island. 
Maiden  Lane  has  its  picturesque  origin  in  the  laundry  cus- 
tom of  the  maidens  at  one  stage  of  Manhattan  history, 
who  nocked  to  certain  clean  waters  where  they  washed 
Manhattan's  soiled  linen. 

New  Amsterdam  did  not  need  many  streets  to  meet 
its  convenience.  In  1664  it  only  held  some  fifteen  hun- 
dred souls  ;  and  1  have  counted  up  seventeen  streets  that 
some  time  during  the  day  were  traversed  by  patient 
New  Amsterdam  pilgrims. 

Two  streets  at  first  must  have  satisfied  the  ambition  of 
the  little  Dutch  town — one  from  the  fort  along  the  water 
front,  and  the  other  from  the  fort  back  into  the  wilder- 
ness, where  savages  skulked,  where  wolves  at  night 
howled  dismally,  and  from  whose  dusky  depths  bears 
had  been  occasionally  led  captive  into  the  primitive 
town,  terrifying  the  mothers  and  rejoicing  the  boys. 
Wolves  at  one  time  were  so  numerous  and  so  destructive 
to  the  cattle  turned  out  into  the  woods,  that  for  a  wolf's 
scalp  a  reward  was  given.  Let  us,  though,  bring  back 
our  thoughts  to  that  street  leading  north  from  the  fort 
through  New  Amsterdam  in  1663,  and  so  to  a  gate  in  the 
palisades  or  wall.  To  this  point  it  was  known  as  De 


IN   A    NEW    WORLD.  41 

Ileeren  Straat,  or  the  Gentlemen's  Street,*  and  was  a 
pioneer  of  onr  Broadway.  Outside  the  wall  it  was  De 
Heeren  Weg.  This  was  a  long  way,  and  marking  out 
the  path  for  a  future  Park  Row,  Chatham  Street,  and 
the  Bowery,  it  stretched  on  across  Manhattan  Island. 

It  was  De  Ileeren  Straat  that  Harold  Wharton  faced, 
and  he  asked  himself,  "  Shall  I  go  this  street  ?  Perhaps 
I  had  better." 

And  yet  the  water  front  had  a  charm  for  him.  The  waves 
that  rippled  and  flashed  in  the  sunlight  seemed  to  beckon 
to  him.  Around  the  vessels  that  were  anchored  in  the 
bay  was  an  attractive  stir  of  boats,  and  each  was  a  mag- 
net. Harold  took  the  street  along  the  water  front,  nar- 
rowly watching  everything.  He  soon  came  to  a  canal, 
on  either  side  of  which  was  a  paved  roadway.  This  was 
De  Heeren  Graft  (a  word  meaning  something  "dug"  — 
and  in  this  case,  a  canal).  It  was  the  predecessor  of  our 
Broad  Street.  Clumsy  lighters  slowly  were  coming  up 
this  canal,  bringing  goods  from  the  anchored  vessels  ; 
and  Dutchmen,  who  loved  anything  that  suggested  Hol- 
land's canals,  beheld  the  scene  with  smiling  complacency. 
De  Heeren  Graft  was  a  beloved  place  of  residence  for 
prosperous  New  Amsterdamers.  Holland  in  a  nutshell 
was  before  them. 

Harold  wandered  along  De  Heeren  Graft.  It  soon 
shrank  to  a  ditch,  receiving  the  waters  of  a  swamp  whose 

*  Memorial  History  of  the  City  of  New  York,  James  Grant  Wil- 
son, Vol.  1.,  p.  294. 


42  BEHIND  MANHATTAN  GABLES. 

oozing  depths  went  in  a  northerly  line  to  the  neighbor- 
hood of  to-day's  Exchange  Place.  Where  a  Holland- 
like  canal  became  a  New  World  ditch,  there  was  a  street 
that  the  beavers  may  have  planned  and  laid  out.  It  was  just 
the  Beavers'  Path  that  became  De  Bever  Graft,  and  as 
here  was  a  canal  in  embryo,  its  borders  were  good  enough 
for  the  homes  of  humble  Dutchmen.  To  the  east  and 
west  of  the  main  line  of  the  beavers'  muddy  quarters 
were  additional  ditches  to  tap  that  troublesome  swamp. 
It  is  said  that  the  above  systematic  tapping  of  the  swamp 
ultimately  changed  its  rough  nature,  and  it  was  tamed 
down  to  a  meadow  called  the  Sheep  Pasture.  To  con- 
firm the  truth  of  this  ancient  story  of  the  existence  of  a 
swamp,  when  in  recent  years  a  ten-story  building  was 
planned  on  a  corner  of  Beaver  and  Broad  streets,  it  was 
necessary  to  drive  piles  through  a  yielding  soil  that  a 
satisfactory  foundation  might  be  secured.  The  beaver 
did  not  mean  to  be  forgotten,  also  that  this  invasion  of 
his  ancient  muddy  home  should  not  be  made  without 
cost  to  the  invader. 

As  Harold  Wharton  wandered  along  New  Amster- 
dam's odd  little  streets  he  saw  a  variety  of  homes.  Some 
were  poor  and  mean,  and  others  worthy  of  praise.  A 
favorite  pattern  was  that  of  a  partly  wooden  building, 
whose  gables  were  filled  with  small  yellow  and  black 
bricks,  making  a  kind  of  checker-work.  It  seemed  as 
if  a  Puritanic  storm  against  checker-boards  might  have 
swept  through  the  little  town,  and  the  abandoned  idols 


IN   A    NEW   WORLD.  43 

set  up  on  end  now  served  as  innocent  gables.  For  the 
roofs,  a  favorite  style  of  finish  was  that  of  tiles  ;  some- 
times shingles  were  used.  Mounted  somewhere  above 
the  house  might  be  a  weather-cock,  ambitiously  but 
silently  making  to  all  New  Amsterdam  a  sign  of  the 
drift  of  the  restless  winds  that  had  arrived  in  town  and 
were  bustling  about.  Down  at  the  door  would  be  a 
knocker  of  brass,  and  a  well-rubbed  knocker  also,  offer- 
ing an  opportunity  to  any  swain  to  rap  timidly  on  the 
door  of  his  beloved,  and  perhaps  furnishing  a  mirror, 
that  he  might  see  if  his  face  were  clean  and  comely,  if 
his  hat  had  a  fashionable  steeple-crown,  and  if  his  white 
collar  were  without  wrinkle  and  of  a  fascinating  pattern. 
All  those  buildings  with  varied  features  only  suggested 
pleasant  domestic  pictures  to  Harold. 

As  he  looked  at  one  locality,  he  saw  a  picture  anything 
but  pleasant.  There  stood  the  old-time  whipping-post, 
and  it  was  bad  enough,  but  its  aid  and  companion  was  far 
more  repulsive.  It  was  a  gallows  !  Unhappy  criminals 
doomed  to  death  were  here  compelled  to  meet  it  in  bar- 
barous fashion.  It  is  an  agency  whose  black  shadow  falls 
no  longer  across  the  life  of  New  York.  Harold  stared 
at  it,  and  shivered  as  if  in  an  Arctic  blast.  In  one  pic- 
ture of  New  Amsterdam  that  ugly  instrument  of  death 
rises  in  the  foreground.  Let  us  be  grateful  that  it  is 
gone  from  New  York  forever. 

Of  Harold's  wanderings  that  day  a  part  has  found 
record  in  a  previous  chapter  that  speaks  of  his  adventure 


44  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

in  Katryne's  street.  Her  beautiful  face  had  surprised 
him  into  a  forgetfulness  of  his  purpose  to  find  without 
aid  a  tavern,  and  stammeringly,  blushingly  he  had  asked 
for  information.  When  he  had  received  it,  when,  too, 
he  had  made  a  deposit  of  good  advice  in  the  mysterious 
depths  of  the  brass  knocker,  he  started  again  on  his 
travels. 

He  passed  very  soon  several  shops.  As  a  rule,  a  New 
Amsterdam  shop  was  in  the  home  of  the  New  Amster- 
damer.  In  the  lower  part  of  the  building  he  traded  for 
skins  and  sold  a  variety  of  goods.  Above,  he  spread 
his  table  and  lived  on  the  profits  of  the  wares  sold  below. 
"When  trade  was  over,  he  could  sit  out  on  his  stoop, 
smoke  his  pipe,  watch  the  lighters  in  the  canal  or  those 
off  the  water-front,  and  when  the  clouds  had  covered 
and  extinguished  the  last  of  the  sun's  fiery  candle,  climb 
the  stairs  to  his  comfortable  couch  behind  the  checker- 
work  gables.  Under  one  roof  revolved  all  the  machinery 
of  his  daily  life. 

New  Amsterdam  was  bibulous  in  its  habits,  and  among 
its  merchandise  were  goods  to  be  drank  as  well  as  eaten 
or  worn.  Sailors  were  arriving  from  over  sea,  and  quite 
likely  to  be  thirsty,  though  men  from  the  water.  The 
savages  had  acquired  an  unhappy  fondness  for  spirits, 
and  would,  if  they  could,  drink  copiously  and  frequently. 
The  New  Amsterdam  trade  in  stimulants  was  more 
thrifty  than  wise. 

Harold  was  pushing  along,  eager  by  his  speedy  ac- 


IN    A    NEW   WORLD.  45 

quaintance  with  it  to  make  the  New  World  an  old  one. 
Eyes  and  ears  were  at  the  front.  A  boyish  enthusiasm 
was  urging  him  on,  and  he  was  ready  for  any  adventure 
that  would  give  him  knowledge.  Then,  what  if  Uncle 
Robert,  as  well  as  the  young  Dutch  woman's  tavern, 
should  turn  up  any  moment  ?  He  had  no  sooner  raised 
this  question  than  he  exclaimed,  "  Look  at  that  man  !" 

Under  the  slanting  roof  of  a  rough  porch  to  a  shop  sat 
a  man  who  had  bowed  his  head  upon  his  arms,  folded 
along  the  back  of  his  chair.  A  table  was  near  him,  and 
it  supported  a  big,  empty  mug.  A  strong  odor  of  some 
kind  of  spirits  was  in  the  air. 

The  man  was  roughly  dressed,  like  a  sailor,  but  no 
roughness  of  dress  could  hide  the  noble  proportions  of 
his  figure. 

"  Faith,  I  know  of  only  one  man  put  together  in  that 
way,"  reflected  Harold.  "  The  fellow  would  do  for 
the  king's  troops." 

He  halted  and  looked  closely  at  the  unconscious  figure. 
"  What  can  the  matter  be  ?"  wondered  Harold.  "  He 
stirs  not,  and  he  carries  his  head  so  low,  it  looks  as  if  it 
would  roll  upon  the  ground.  Drunk — yes,  drunk  as  a 
fool  !" 

Harold  was  stepping  round  to  the  other  side  of  the 
insensible  occupant  of  the  chair,  when  a  man  came  out 
of  the  shop  and,  staring  at  Harold,  threw  out  in  a  coarse 
tone  of  voice  something  too  far  off  in  Dutch  to  be  within 
the  reach  of  Harold's  understanding.  The  stranger  was 


46  BEHIND   MANHATTAN-  GABLES. 

heavily  built,  his  face  coarse,  lumpish,  and  pimpled. 
On  his  head  he  wore  a  red  skull-cap.  His  vest  of  blue 
was  ornamented  with  various  relics  of  tarnished  brass. 
A  long,  dirty  white  apron  fell  down  before  breeches  and 
leggings  of  blue. 

"  This  fellow  in  brass  is  the  man  that  keeps  this  shop. 
He  is  a  tapster,"  concluded  Harold.  "  I  think  he  has 
just  got  this  man  drunk,  and  it's  a  sorry  trick  on  so  fine 
a  specimen  of  a  man." 

The  tapster  laughed  boisterously  as  he  saw  Harold's 
interest  in  a  tipsy  customer,  said  something  else  that 
Harold  thought  was  Dutch  because  unintelligible,  and 
slipped  back  into  his  dirty  den. 

Harold  was  not  satisfied.  He  must  learn  more  about 
this  case  in  the  chair.  He  bowed  and  tried  to  look  up 
into  the  face  stink  upon  those  folded  arms. 

"  What  !"  he  murmured.  "  It  can't  be,  but  it  looks 
like  it,  and  he  is  drunk — drunk  as  a  fool.  Say,  rouse 
up  !  Who  are  you  ?  Do  you  know  me  ?"  The  sleeper 
turned  in  his  chair,  partially  raised  his  head,  drowsily 
opened  his  eyes,  while  Harold  exclaimed,  "  George 
Martin  !" 

George  Martin  was  one  of  the  magnets  drawing  Harold 
across  the  sea  ;  George  Martin,  who  had  made,  too,  a 
magnet  of  his  letters  home  ;  George  Martin,  for  whom 
an  old  parent  was  wearily  waiting  in  England  ;  George 
Martin,  whose  mother  was  hoping  to  come  to  America, 
bringing  Harold's  mother,  all  making  a  home  under  the 


IN   A   NEW   WORLD.  47 

same  roof  !  Everything  though  came  to  this,  that  here 
was  a  drunken  fool  in  a  chair  before  a  dirty  wine-shop  ! 
The  New  World  suddenly  seemed  to  collapse,  breaking 
down  into  this  sad  ruin.  George  was  stupidly  asleep 
again. 

"George!"  called  Harold  gently,  "  I  am  Harold 
Wharton,  just  over  from  England,  and  I  have  been 
hunting  for  thee.  Come,  George,  wake  up  !"  He 
shook  the  sleeper,  though  not  roughly.  The  only  re- 
sponse was  a  groan.  "  Oh,  it  is  too  bad  !"  murmured 
Harold.  He  tried  again,  "  Come,  come,  man  !  Wake 
up  !  An  old  friend  is  here." 

"  Ha,  ha,  man  !  Cannot  do  much  wid  dot  ting  of 
beef!" 

The  words  were  English,  but  the  accent  was  Dutch. 

Harold  looked  up  and  saw  a  showily  dressed  man 
hurrying  out  of  the  shop.  He  was  perhaps  forty  years 
old.  His  features  were  finely  cut,  but  their  expression 
was  malevolent.  As  he  stepped  forward,  his  gait  was 
one  of  importance.  He  wore  a  gray  frock  with  short 
skirts,  breeches  of  black  velvet,  and  hose  of  blue. 
Around  his  waist  was  drawn  a  sash  of  scarlet.  He  wore 
a  broad,  white  collar,  and  upon  his  head  was  a  steeple- 
crowned  hat.  He  pompously  strutted  up  to  the  sleeper 
and  shook  him  rudely.  Then  he  savagely  kicked  him. 
The  response  was  a  deep  groan,  as  if  George  Martin's 
soul  were  injured  as  well  as  his  body. 

Harold  sprang  forward  when  the  man  raised  his  foot 


48  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

to  deliver  another  brutal  kick,  and  planted  himself 
between  George  Martin  and  his  assailant.  Harold's  eyes 
Bashing  out  their  indignation  were  like  coals  of  fire. 
He  straightened  up  ;  he  towered  ;  he  was  a  handsome 
picture  of  strength  and  aroused  justice.  He  was  a 
knight  bound  to  right  wrong,  and  he  felt  and  showed  it. 

"  Don't  you  do  that  again  !"  he  thundered. 

"  Eh  ?"  said  the  man  sneeringly,  saucily.  "  Why 
not  ?  Wilt  thou  stop  me,  thou  English  puppy  ?" 

He  nourished  a  pugnacious  fist  before  Harold's  burn- 
ing eyes,  but  Harold  said  nothing,  did  nothing,  only 
looked  at  the  man.  The  latter  was  still  more  enraged  at 
Harold's  silence,  and  shook  his  fist  still  more  threaten- 
ingly. Seeing  that  Harold  would  not  budge,  he  stepped 
aside,  and  then  making  a  quick  move  in  the  rear,  rushed 
at  George,  and  would  have  kicked  him  still  more 
brutally,  but  Harold  caught  the  fellow,  seized  his  arms 
and  twisted  them  behind  him,  and  then  holding  him  in 
his  powerful  grasp,  shoved  him  along  the  street.  The 
captive  struggled  and  writhed  to  get  away  from  Harold, 
but  the  grip  was  like  iron  and  hopeless.  Several  loafers 
came  out  of  the  shop,  and  standing  in  the  porch  grinned  at 
the  sight,  and  then  laughed  and  shouted,  "  Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !" 

At  the  first  street-corner  Harold  took  off  his  hands, 
and  then  pointing  round  the  corner,  commanded,  "  Do 
— thou— go  /" 

"  Who— who—  art— thouf"  fumed  the  man  in  Eng- 
lish, adding  something  in  Dutch. 


IN   A   KEW   WORLD.  49 

"  That  is  not  your  matter.     Do  thou  GO  !" 

The  stranger  hesitated,  but  when  Harold  advanced 
toward  him  angrily  replied,  "  1  go,  mynheer,  but  thou 
and  he — the  sprat  is  mine — he — thou  wilt  hear  from  me." 

Off  he  went,  throwing  out  hot  curses  in  Dutch  as 
energetically  as  if  he  were  a  volcano  in  course  of  eruption. 

Harold  went  back  to  George. 

"  George  !' '  he  called.     "  Come,  boy,  try  to  get  up  !" 

George  was  now  beginning  to  realize  that  he  had  been 
kicked,  and  was  rubbing  his  leg. 

"  Come,  George,  come  !" 

"  Harold,  boy  !"  exclaimed  the  sailor  in  an  affection- 
ate, delighted  tone. 

"  Yes,  George  ;  now  get  up  and  go  with  me." 

Harold  wound  a  strong  arm  about  George  and  helped 
him  up.  Together  they  went  off.  But  where  in  the 
wide  world,  and  in  New  Amsterdam  in  particular, 
would  Harold  take  this  befuddled  companion  ?  "  Which 
way  did  that  young  Dutch  woman  say  I  must  go  to  find 
a  tavern  ?" 

He  looked  up,  and  his  eyes  snapped.  "  There  she  is 
now  !"  he  exclaimed,  with  delight.  Katryne  met  Har- 
old like  one  of  the  angels  that  crossed  the  path  of  poor, 
distressed  Jacob.  She  had  been  sent  out  by  the  Schuy- 
lers  in  behalf  of  the  family  larder,  that  it  might  be  equal 
to  the  demands  of  the  appetite  of  that  expected  guest, 
Captain  Dirk  van  Schenkel. 

Fancying  she  might  possibly  see  again  that  gallant 


50  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"   GABLES. 

young  Englishman,  she  could  not  resist  the  promptings 
of  a  nature  that  was  as  human  as  the  average,  and  had 
allowed  herself  to  put  on  a  very  becoming  piece  of  head 
furniture,  a  crimson  hood  of  silk.  It  was  in  the  latest 
style,  certainly  as  fresh  a  pattern  as  New  Amsterdam 
knew  about,  and  it  made  a  fascinating  setting  for  her 
bright  eyes.  Otherwise  her  attire  was  plain,  just  a 
simple  black  dress  that  opened  in  front  to  show  a  petti- 
coat of  black.  All  this  though  only  made  the  crimson  the 
more  prominent.  Katryne  had  a  very  pretty  foot — so 
Johanna  used  to  think — and  this  was  encased  in  a  high- 
heeled  shoe. 

When  Harold  saw  her,  he  abruptly  stopped,  and  his 
load  stopped  with  him.  Harold's  gaze  was  one  of  hon- 
est admiration.  Katryne  had  seen  Harold  as  promptly 
as  Harold  had  seen  Katryne,  but  she  did  not  wish  in  any 
way  to  confess  it.  There  was  a  puddle  in  her  pathway, 
and  coquettishly  turning  from  Harold,  there  was  a  far- 
away look  in  her  eyes,  as  if  her  thoughts  were  beyond 
the  seas,  and  the  great  occupation  of  her  present  life 
was  how  to  get  a  pair  of  high-heeled  shoes  safely  over  a 
puddle  in  South  Africa.  She  heard  a  cough.  It  was 
not  a  sharp,  rigid,  aged  cough,  but  one  sonorous,  pliable, 
youthful.  She  did  not  turn  her  head  though.  She  was 
in  South  Africa  still. 

"  A-a-hem,  madam  !"  appealed  Harold,  fearful  that 
this  fascinating  vision  of  an  angel  might  vanish  up  the 
spring  sky. 


1ST  A   NEW  WORLD.  51 

Katryne  gave  a  startled  toss  of  the  head,  as  if  this 
were  one  of  the  amazing  surprises  of  her  life,  and  on  the 
other  side  of  the  puddle,  that  to  Harold  seemed  to  have 
an  Atlantic  width,  she  tantalizingly  halted.  Harold 
was  trying  to  give  a  very  stately  bow  while  still  support- 
ing George. 

"  Poor  fellow  !"  mourned  Katryne  in  touching  tones, 
with  her  eyes  avoiding  Harold  and  looking  tenderly  at 
George. 

"Is  he  drunk?" 

She  infused  into  her  English  such  a  pretty  mixture  of 
Dutch  intonation,  that  Harold's  sense  of  the  sin  of  in- 
toxication began  to  weaken.  It  promptly  strengthened 
though. 

"  Yes,  lady ;  and  only  think  of  it,  he  is  a  sailor  that 
I  was  looking  for,  one  I  knew  at  home  in  England  ;  but 
1  did  not  think  to  find  him  where  1  did." 

George  was  gradually  coming  to  himself,  and  now 
muttered,  "  Never  did — did  think  !" 

"  Poor  fellow  !"  again  said  the  Dutch  angel  so  pity- 
ingly. 

Harold  now  was  so  stirred  up  that  he  felt  like  deliver- 
ing a  strong  sermon  on  the  evil  of  drink,  and  on  the 
evil,  too,  of  pitying  its  devotees. 

"  And  he  is  a  sailor  ?"  inquired  Katryne.  "  They 
have  such  a  hard  time  !" 

He  wanted  to  tell  her  what  a  hard  time  he  had  had  as 
a  knight,  protecting  his  friend  against  one  who  had  in 


52  BEHIND   MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

his  face  the  expression  of  the  Evil  One.  Yes,  he  could 
have  told  her  he  felt  as  if  he,  the  knight,  had  crossed 
the  devil's  track.  He  was  silent  though.  If  he  had 
spoken,  he  doubted  whether  this  hard-heartecl  Dutch 
angel  would  have  pitied  one  who  had  fought  the  Evil 
One.  Only  drunken  sailors  would  receive  her  commis- 
eration. 

"1  pity  sailors.  They  have  a  life  of  danger,"  she 
began  again. 

"  They  may  make  life  wretched  for  their  friends,  and 
will  do  it  if  they  get  drunk.  Good-day,  madam  !" 

His  language  was  courteous,  but  his  manner  was  dis- 
tant. Off  he  went,  tugging  at  his  burden. 

"  Fare  thee  well  !"  said  Katryne  gently  and  peni- 
tently, looking  now  at  Harold  with  strained  vision,  and 
hoping  he  might  turn  just  once. 

He  did  not  give  one  glance  backward,  but  strode  off 
haughtily.  She,  in  her  anxiety  to  see  all  that  she  could 
of  the  supporter  of  the  drunken  sailor,  stepped  carelessly, 
and  as  if  to  punish  her  for  her  trifling  manner  toward  a 
lonely  exile  from  England,  one  of  her  high-heeled  shoes 
slipped  off  and  dropped  into  the  puddle. 

11  Oh  !  oh  !"  sighed  Katryne,  pulling  out  of  the  water 
her  luckless  shoe. 

She  now  went  off  in  disgrace,  but  she  gave  a  final 
swing  to  her  crimson  hood  ;  Harold  was  not  looking. 
He  was  walking  off  stiffly,  dragging  the  English  sailor 
with  him. 


IN  A   NEW   WORLD.  53 

"  Does  he  see  that  tavern  ?"  wondered  Katryne. 

Yes,  he  saw  a  building  that  he  concluded  was  a  tavern. 
Its  open  door  had  a  hospitable  look,  and  on  benches  at 
each  side  of  the  wide  stoop  men  were  lounging  that 
might  be  classed  as  travellers  seeking  a  refuge,  or  pro- 
fessional loafers  from  the  streets  of  New  Amsterdam. 
Sampson-like,  Harold  was  dragging  George  along  with 
him,  and  finally  deposited  him  in  an  empty  chair  near 
the  benches.  W  ith  the  air  of  a  knight  who  had  won  a  great 
trophy,  and  only  wanted  now  an  opportunity  temporarily 
to  shelter  it,  Harold  stepped  across  the  threshold  of  the 
tavern  and  upon  its  carefully  sanded  floor.  A  person 
was  here  that  Harold  took  to  be  the  tavern-keeper,  wear- 
ing a  skull-cap  of  yellow  and  a  baggy  coat  of  blue  and 
velvet  breeches  of  black.  He  understood  English  enough 
to  catch  at  Harold's  meaning,  and  he  led  him  across  the 
ridges  of  sand  to  a  stairway,  beyond  which  were  several 
guest-rooms.  Harold  was  absent  not  more  than  five 
minutes,  and  having  made  his  selection,  returned  to  the 
stoop,  but  found  an  empty  chair.  The  trophy  that  was 
the  sign  of  the  prowess  of  this  English  knight  had 
gone  ! 

Could  George  have  gone  off  without  help  ?  Harold 
did  not  ask  any  of  the  noisily  jabbering  group  on  the 
stoop  for  information,  but  in  his  self-reliant  way  pre- 
ferred to  hunt  up  George,  who  had  probably  sauntered 
off  a  short  distance,  and  could  soon  be  found,  he  assured 
himself.  A  patient  hunt  did  nut  disclose  George  to  the 


54  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

hunter.  Then  Harold  applied  to  the  tavern-keeper, 
who  was  pacing  his  sanded  floor. 

"  Have  you  seen  my  friend  ?" 

"  Yot?" 

"  I  left  a  friend  at  your  door,  and  he  has  gone  away." 

"  Yot — gone  vay  ?" 

"  He  has  gone,  I  say.  He  was  my  friend.  I  left 
him  at  your  door,  sir." 

"  Komm  dis  vay  !  My,  my  !  Yot  ish  it  ?  Komm, 
komm  !" 

The  tavern-keeper's  skull-cap  flew  to  the  door  as  if  it 
were  a  wing,  and  there  this  wing  of  yellow  was  sur- 
rounded by  an  excited  circle,  all  gabbling  at  once — one 
man  pointing  at  the  empty  chair,  another  at  Harold,  a 
third  down  the  street  toward  the  water.  All  about 
Harold  was  this  whirlpool  of  Dutch  words,  the  tavern- 
keeper  energetically  interjecting  an  additional  and  con- 
fusing torrent  of  opinion.  Finally,  a  man  came  up 
whom  the  others  accosted  volubly,  and  pointed  at  Har- 
old, as  if  to  acquaint  the  man  with  Harold's  connection 
with  something  that  had  happened. 

"  He  knows  something  about  this,  and  1  will  ask  for 
myself,"  thought  Harold.  "  There  is  so  much  excite- 
ment, I  know  George  did  not  go  peaceably." 

"  Did  you  see  a  man  go  from  here  ?"  asked  Harold. 

"  You  shpeaken  no  Dootch  ?"  inquired  the  man. 

Harold  shook  his  head. 

"  Denn  lemme  shpeak  English.     Dot  man  vot  go — 


IN   A    NEW   WORLD.  55 

veil,  he  go,  cos — cos  he  must  go.  Dey  made  him  fur 
logo." 

"  Who  made  him  ?"  asked  Harold,  springing  forward. 

"  Veil,  a  shailor  miist  go  mit  shailors.  Dey  made 
him  go." 

"  Which  way?" 

"Deship?" 

"  Yes,  the  ship — I  mean,  where  did  the  sailors  take 
that  man  ?" 

"  Do  ship — ober  dar — and— and" — here  the  man 
pointed  to  the  water-front — "  and  goin'  dish  day." 

The  next  moment  Harold  was  rushing  down  to  the 
water-front  to  find  a  ship  going  that  very  day,  and 
carrying  off  the  luckless  George  Martin.  Out  in  the 
stream  was  one  ship,  whose  deck  showed  the  turmoil  of 
departure.  Men  were  rushing  about  handling  pieces  of 
cargo,  or  they  were  climbing  the  rigging,  or  they  were 
hoisting  sail.  And  up  in  the  shrouds,  did  not  Harold 
see  George  Martin  ? 

u  Fool  that  I  am  !  He  cannot  climb  a  ship's  rigging. 
He  is  not  over  his  spree.  That  looks  like  him  by  the 
rail.  And  the  man  in  the  stern  ?"  wondered  Har- 
old. 

In  the  high,  old-fashioned  poop  stood  an  officer.  He 
was  grinning  satanically  and  waving  his  hand  defiantly 
at  Harold. 

"  That's  the  Evil  One  !"  exclaimed  Harold.  "  That 
is  the  man  that  kicked  George  Martin — his  captain — and 


56  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

1  understand  it  all  now  :  he  sent  a  gang  that  carried 
poor  George  off.  I  have  it  now  !' ' 

The  vessel  was  speedily  drifting  away.  Over  our 
young  knight  stole  a  feeling  of  solitude.  He  thought 
of  the  old  friend  who  was  in  his  arms  a  little  while  ago  ; 
but  now,  snatched  away,  he  was  a  prisoner,  and  every 
moment  receding  in  that  receding  vessel.  "Was  the  ves- 
sel going  to  England  ?  He  thought  of  the  waste  of 
water  between  him  and  his  old  home,  of  the  loneliness 
of  that  stretch  of  ocean.  He  seemed  solitary  as  the 
solitary  sea. 

He  started  forward.  Was  the  Evil  One  in  the  high 
stern  throwing  Harold  a  last  gesture  of  contempt  ?  Who 
could  he  be  ? 

"  I'll  ask  the  man  next  me.  He  may  be  English,  and 
can  tell  me  who  that  captain  is,"  thought  Harold. 

The  man  proved  to  be  English  and  good  as  a  di- 
rectory. 

"  The  captain  of  that  vessel  is  one  Van  Schenkel." 

"  Yan  Schenkel  ?"  thought  Harold.  "  Then  Van 
Schenkel  is  the  devil." 

He  felt  his  loneliness  still  more  sensibly.  He  turned 
away  from  the  water-front,  wishing  he  could  see  the 
handsome  Dutch  maiden.  If  he  had  known  her  aver- 
sion to  Van  Schenkel,  the  angel  in  the  crimson  hood 
would  have  had  a  new  attraction  for  him. 


CHAPTER  V. 

PIETEK    THE     SOT. 

HANS  SCHUYLER  sat  out  in  his  garden,  and  as  he 
smoked,  seemingly  gave  all  his  thoughts  to  the  cattle — 
a  fine  pair  just  imported  from  Holland — that,  securely 
tethered,  were  feeding  with  great  satisfaction  on  a  plot 
of  green  grass  at  the  foot  of  the  Dutch  garden.  Hans 
had  such  an  animal  look,  was  so  round-bodied,  that  if, 
going  on  all  fours,  he  had  been  turned  out  there,  he 
might  have  seemed  to  be  among  his  kind  ;  but  he  would 
not  have  been,  for  Hans  would  have  rooted  in  the  emer- 
ald sod.  He  was  not  of  the  cattle-kind.  Hans  was  pig. 
Hans  had  a  big,  puffy  face  ;  full,  drooping,  shaven 
cheeks  ;  a  tnrned-up  nose,  that  was  remarkable  for  a 
pinkish  tip.  An  erysipelous  affection  of  a  wilful  nature 
had  persisted  in  going  into  that  tip  and  perversely  pink- 
ing it.  When  he  was  excited,  his  face  was  more  swine- 
like  than  ever,  for  into  it  came  a  heavy  look  of  animal 
obstinacy,  while  the  tip  of  the  nose  was  more  inflamed 
than  usual.  The  occasion  of  the  present  commotion  in 
Hans'  soul  was,  first  of  all,  a  talk  that  Hans  had  had 
with  Katryne.  The  day  that  Van  Schenkel  had  been 
expected  to  call,  that  day  Van  Schenkel  did  not  call. 


58  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

He  had  planned  to  start  on  a  coasting  trip  to  New  Eng- 
land, after  he  had  seen  the  Schuylers.  His  crew,  though, 
had  made  him  trouble  by  their  carousals  in  New  Amster- 
dam's drinking-holes,  and  after  he  had  alighted  upon 
George  Martin  and  dragged  him  away,  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  sail  at  once.  Both  wind  and  tide  promised 
their  help.  The  voyage  would  not  be  long,  he  told  him- 
self. He  would  be  back  soon.  Then  he  would  see 
Katryne.  He  did  not  feel  uneasy  as  to  success  in  this 
interview,  though  his  errand  was  so  serious  as  to  discuss 
his  betrothal  to  Katryne  and  a  subsequent  marriage. 
Hans  favored  this,  and  Hans  had  been  the  one  to  rule 
behind  the  dog  and  lion  knocker.  Not  for  a  moment 
did  he  suppose  he  must  now  get  down  from  his  throne. 
Could  the  names  of  Van  Schcnkel  and  Schuyler  be  firmly 
tied  together,  it  would  greatly  be  to  Hans'  financial  ad- 
vantage, for  Yan  Schenkel  had  money.  Hans  also  was 
reported  to  sit  as  a  kind  of  king  enthroned  on  his  wealth, 
but  there  was  much  thinness  of  shell  to  his  finances,  and 
a  rough  stroke  from  any  catastrophe  would  shiver  Hans' 
prosperity.  On  the  other  hand,  what  stability  would  be 
assured  to  the  shell  if  it  could  be  thickly  lined  with 
those  beaver-skins  Van  Schenkel  brought  down  from 
the  Indian  country  traversed  by  the  long,  lonely  North 
River  !  A  blow,  though,  from  Katryne's  own  energetic 
hand  was  the  catastrophe  threatening  to  shatter  that 
shell.  When  Hans,  to  prepare  her  for  Van  Schenkel' s 
call,  had  plainly  spoken  about  this  modest  captain's  in- 


PIETER   TflE    SOT.  59 

tention,  Katryne  met  the  proposition  with  a  prompt, 
flat,  even  scornful  rejection. 

Hans  was  not  prepared  for  this.  It  upset  him  at  the 
time,  and  he  had  not  recovered  from  the  upset.  Out  in 
the  garden  he  was  thinking  it  over.  The  memory  of 
that  talk  very  much  excited  a  nature  that  did  not  love 
excitement  for  its  own  sake.  He  breathed  more  and 
more  heavily.  He  drew  on  his  pipe  harder  and  harder, 
lie  threw  out  larger  and  larger  puffs  of  smoke.  In  the 
midst  of  this  enveloping  cloud  there  would  he  an  explo- 
sion, like  a  gun  going  off,  a  gruff  "  Booh-h-h-h  !"  As 
the  smoke  from  the  discharge  of  this  heavy  old  cannon 
cleared  away,  Hans  would  make  some  exclamation,  some 
declaration  of  a  purpose,  which  might  be  taken  as  the 
shot  from  the  cannon  going  to  its  mark.  His  first  dec- 
laration was,  "  Katryne,  Katryne  must  be  brought 
under  !"  What  was  a  woman  for,  anyway,  in  Hans' 
opinion,  save  just  to  fill  the  relation  of  a  creature  in 
subjection  to  man,  her  superior,  her  master  ?  To  obey 
was  the  one  great  path  for  her  feet,  the  orbit  in  which 
•was  rounded  out  the  sweep  of  her  greatest  privilege. 
Katryne  must  learn  obedience,  she  must  be  brought 
under. 

It  might  have  been  said  that  a  process  of  subjection  was 
entered  upon  when  Katryne  was  sent  up  into  Johanna's 
old  room.  That  though  was  not  so  serious.  Hans  now 
detected  alarming  signs  of  dissent  from  the  Van  Schenkel 
plan,  the  first  fluttering  of  a  flag  of  insurrection.  The 


60  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"   GABLES. 

threat  next  developed  into  plain  refusal.  The  flag  was 
run  up,  up  to  the  masthead  of  open  rebellion.  Was 
this  so  ?  Then  Katryne  must  be  promptly  taken  in 
hand,  brought  under,  and  given  to  understand  that  the 
standard  of  rebellion  must  be  submissively  lowered. 
Hans  again  smoked  hard,  puffed  furiously,  till  a  mal- 
odorous cloud  covered  his  face.  He  removed  his 
pipe.  Again  a  growl  and  a  shot  from  the  cannon  ; 
"  Booh-h-h-h  !  Katryne  must  be  brought  under.  She 
shall  take  the  clothes  outside  the  wall  to  wash  !"  There 
was  a  space  of  silence,  and  as  the  cows  fed,  Hans  smoked. 
The  puffs  finally  grew  more  ill-tempered,  the  smoke 
thickened,  it  darkened,  and  there  came  another  explo- 
sion. This  time  the  shot  went  in  the  direction  of  an- 
other and  older  female.  "  Booh-h-h-h  !  Lysbet — that 
woman,  too,  must  be  brought  under  !" 

How  the  latter  could  be  accomplished,  it  was  not 
stated  at  the  cannon's  mouth,  but  it  was  resolved  upon. 
No  one  would  have  charged  Lysbet  with  insurrectionary 
tendencies.  That  round  face  with  its  fringe  of  grayish 
hair,  its  sleepy  blue  eyes,  whitish  brows,  placid  mouth, 
did  not  suggest  a  warrior  in  his  helmet,  and  yet  there 
was  some  war  even  in  Lysbet's  make-up.  While  it  was  in 
her,  it  was  generally  very  much  covered  up.  Lysbet 
was  like  the  cat,  drowsily  stretching  out  before  the  fire, 
that  looks  pacific  and  protrudes  soft,  velvet  paws,  but 
under  the  paws  are  claws,  and  sometimes  there  is  a  sur- 
prising projection  of  those  claws.  Lysbet  had  been 


PIETEH   THE    SOT.  61 

known  to  give  Hans  a  scratch,  and  he  deserved  it. 
There  was  no  trace  in  his  face  or  hands,  but  in  his  lacer- 
ated feelings  he  carried  Lysbet's  mark. 

She  had  in  a  general  way  favored  the  Dirk  van 
Schenkel  plan,  but  when  Katryne  had  refused  to  do  her 
very  important  part  in  the  matter,  Lysbet  thought  the 
betrothal  should  be  delayed  until  Katryne  gradually 
might  have  opportunity  to  come  to  the  desired  decision. 

"  No,  no,  myn  vrouw  !"  roared  Hans.  "  She  decide 
now — now,  I  tell  thee,  woman  !  Thou  must  not  talk  in 
that  foolish  way." 

"  Thou  art  a  cruel  man  to  talk  thy  way  !"  retorted 
Lysbet,  shooting  out  with  her  words  a  sharp  look.  In 
the  words  and  tho  look  were  claws.  Then  she  gave 
another  and  far  deeper  scratch  with  the  claws,  usually 
under  such  velvety  paws  :  "If  Hans  would  work  hard 
himself,  Hans  would  not  need  to  force  this  on  Katryne." 

Did  Hans  hear  ?     Could  he  believe  his  own  ears  ? 

"  Thou  knowest  thou  art  lazy,  Hans  !"  A  scratch  there  ! 

Hans  grew  purple  at  the  mouth  and  pink  at  the  nose. 
He  could  not  speak.  Subsequently  he  withdrew  to  his 
garden  to  smoke,  and  also  at  that  safe  distance  to  fire 
shots  at  Lysbet.  She,  too,  must  be  brought  under. 

As  Hans  smoked  away  there  came  a  final  explosion  : 
"  Booh,  booh,  booh-h-h  !  Pieter,  he,  too,  must  be 
brought  under  !" 

Pieter  van  Twiller  apparently  was  the  last  person  in 
the  world  that  needed  to  be  reduced  to  further  subjec- 


62  BEHIND   MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

tion.  Pieter  was  already  in  chains  ;  lie  was  a  sot.  The 
schnapps  of  Holland  had  conquered  him,  even  subjugated 
him.  He  was  accustomed  to  come  every  day  for  his 
schnapps  or  beer.  This  was  an  arrangement  of  long 
standing,  though  only  Hans,  Lysbet,  and  Pieter  himself 
knew  the  reason  of  it.  People  wondered  that  Hans 
should  grant  this  daily  potation,  for  they  knew  how 
selfish  he  was.  For  some  mysterious  reason  this  daily 
dram  was  granted,  and  Pieter  would  come,  whenever  in 
New  Amsterdam,  for  his  allowance.  No  pig  was  more 
regularly  at  his  trough.  The  morning  of  this  day  of 
Hans'  solemn  council  with  himself,  though,  Pieter  had 
shown  a  most  unaccountable  mood. 

11  Pieter,  now  think,  now  think  !"  was  Hans'  invita- 
tion. 

Pieter  opened  his  drowsy  eyes,  prepared  to  think. 

"  Thinkest  thou  not  that  Yan  Schenkel  would  make  a 
good  husband  for  Katryne  ?  Then  tell  her  so.  It  will 
be  well  for  thee  to  do  it." 

"  Our  Katryne  ?"  asked  Pieter  in  a  tone  of  surprise, 
his  eyes  wide  open  now. 

"  Yes,  our  Katryne.  Why,  man,  there  is  but  one 
in  the  neighborhood,"  said  Hans  testily,  provoked  at 
Pieter's  stupidity. 

Nothing  more  was  said  that  moment,  but  very  soon, 
without  any  intimation  of  it,  Pieter  brought  a  heavy 
hand  down  on  the  table,  and  made  his  unfilled  glass 
jump. 


PIETEK   THE    SOT.  63 

"  Hans,  I  have  sold  myself  again  and  again  to  the 
devil,  and  sometimes  at  a  very  small  price  ;  but  I  won't 
sell  myself  in  this  thing." 

"What?"  asked  the  astonished  Hans.  "  What— 
w-w-w — "  he  sputted,  and  then  stared  in  silence. 

"  I  have  sold  myself  again  and  again  to  the  devil,  and 
now  is  proposed  another  sale — that  it  will  be  well  for  me 
to  tell  her  that  Van  Schenkel  would  make  her  a  good 
husband,  and  say  it  to  her  as  God's  truth  ;  and,  Hans 
Schuyler,  it  would  be  an  infamous  lie  !  Mynheer,  I  will 
not  say  it  !" 

Pieter  had  risen  from  his  seat  in  a  flag-bottomed  chair. 

If  one  person  is  bigger  than  another,  it  is  not  so  much 
when  one  is  superior  in  size,  but  when  he  takes  a  stand 
for  the  right  against  the  wrong.  The  bigness  of  the 
principle  seems  to  come  out  and  add  length  and  breadth, 
till  even  a  dwarf  becomes  a  being  of  imposing  stature. 
Pieter  the  sot  towered  before  Hans'  surprised  vision 
into  Pieter  the  giant. 

"  G-g-g-go  !"  ordered  Hans  in  furious  passion,  hardly 
able  to  speak.  "  N-n-no  !  Take — thy — s-schnapps — 
first — if — if — thou  wilt  take  them — take — ' 

11 1  don't  want  thy  schnapps,"  replied  Pieter  in  a 
manly  fashion,  and  then  off  he  went. 

Hans'  surprise  was  now  greater  than  ever.  Pieter's 
independence  had  astonished  him,  but  to  think  that 
Pieter  did  not  want  schnapps.  For  five  minutes  Hans 
could  do  nothing  except  to  waddle  about  the  room,  wiping 


64  BEHIND    MAKHATTAtf   GABLES. 

liis  face,  and  ejaculating  every  half  minute,  "  Strange  ! 
Not  want  schnapps— Pieter  not  want  schnapps  !" 

In  the  garden  at  a  later  hour,  the  cattle  being  wit- 
nesses, Hans  reviewed  the  alarming  details  of  this  gen- 
eral uprising,  and  resolved  that  Katryne  must  be  brought 
under,  Lysbet  must  be  brought  under,  Pieter  must  be 
brought  under  ! 

Another  morning  came,  and  Katryne,  having  received 
her  strange  orders,  seized  the  family  linen  and  took  the 
path  that  led  outside  the  wall  to  the  clean,  clear  water 
that  gave  a  popular  wash-tub  to  New  Amsterdam 
maidens. 

It  was  a  new  path  for  Katryne  Schuyler.  Girls  in 
humbler  station  did  it,  but  not  Katryne  Schuyler.  What 
did  it  mean  ?  She  was  not  unwilling  to  work,  but  she 
was  in  some  excitement  as  she  wondered  at  Hans'  possi- 
ble motive  in  issuing  the  order.  She  had  not  gone  far 
when  a  voice  just  behind  her  exclaimed  : 

"  My  poor  child  !  Let  me  take  thy  clothes,  Katryne 
dear." 

"  Why,  Uncle  Pieter  !     I  did  not  see  thee." 

"  1  saw  thee  though,  and  I  hurried  to  catch  thee." 

As  he  looked  at  her,  his  eyes  sparkled  with  admiration. 
Hans  had  thought  that  rough  work,  her  working  clothes, 
the  public  exposure,  all  the  surroundings  of  the  hour 
would  not  only  mortify  and  tame  this  rebellious  will,  but 
she  would  look  degraded  in  the  eyes  of  others,  as  well 
as  feel  it  in  her  own  consciousness.  A  magnificent  rose 


PIETEE   THE   SOT.  65 

though  may  be  placed  in  very  rough  surroundings,  and 
it  will  look  more  queenly  there  than  in  a  garden. 

Katryne's  dress  was  one  chosen  for  her  working  hours, 
but  though  of  humble  stuff,  it  was  picturesquely  worn. 
Her  gown,  though  very  cheap,  was  new,  and  of  a  crim- 
son that  set  off  well  her  clear,  brilliant  complexion. 

What  the  Prince  of  Morocco  said  to  Portia  could 
never  have  been  said  to  Katryne  Schuyler,  "  Mislike 
me  not  for  my  complexion." 

A  fold  of  that  same  crimson  cloth  she  had  gracefully 
wound  about  the  rich  tresses  of  her  black  hair.  Under 
her  prettily  moulded  chin  she  had  shot  through  her 
white  collar  an  arrow  of  gold.  She  thought  of  the 
young  Englishman  when  she  pinned  this  in  its  place,  and 
yet  inconsistently,  for  she  was  not  ready  to  say  that  she 
cared  to  have  him  meet  her  bearing  off  the  family  wash. 
Her  parted  skirts  showed  a  petticoat  of  cheap  material  and 
unornamented,  but  white,  and  so  were  her  hose  daintily 
appearing  above  her  high-heeled  shoes.  So  white  and 
yet  so  radiant,  so  bright,  so  pure,  so  easy  and  graceful 
and  queenly  her  gait,  that  if  a  young  Englishman  had 
met  this  young  laundry  girl  he  might  fittingly  have 
thought  her  one  of  the  attendant  maidens  of  old-time 
Olympus  that  had  dropped  down  to  Manhattan  Island, 
and  for  the  pleasantry  of  it  was  bearing  off  the  Schuyler 
wash. 

What  wonder  that  Uncle  Pieter  said,  "  My  dear 
child,  how  fair  thou  art  !" 


66  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

"  And,  Uncle  Pieter,  how  well  thou  art  looking  !" 

"  Ah,  that  can  never  be  !" 

Her  surprise  to  see  him  so  well-looking  was  not  only 
great  as  his  to  see  her  tugging  at  her  load,  but  her  aston- 
ishment was  greater,  for  he  was  sober.  Pieter  the  sot 
was  not  wont  to  be  in  this  mood,  but  then  this  morning 
he  had  not  called  for  his  daily  potation.  His  generally 
half-shut,  dull  eyes  were  wide  open  now,  and  a  bright 
light  flashed  up  through  their  dark  depths.  His  hair 
was  of  a  Bandy  gray,  and  when  he  lifted  his  battered  hat 
and  pushed  aside  his  frosted  locks,  bis  skin  showed  as 
fair  a  surface  as  Katryne's.  Had  not  Lysbet  told  Katryne 
that  Pieter  the  sot  when  young  was  of  marked  beauty  ? 
He  and  Lysbet  were  children  of  the  same  mother,  but 
they  had  different  fathers.  Both  were  born  in  Holland, 
but  Pieter  had  been  sent  to  New  England  by  an  im- 
pecunious father,  and  in  Boston  had  been  brought  up  by 
relatives.  When  past  twenty-five  he  came  to  New  Am- 
sterdam. Pieter,  though  Holland-born,  felt  that  he  was 
also  an  Englishman.  He  spoke  the  tongue  arid  had  the 
ways  of  the  English,  while  cognizant  of  the  Dutch 
tongue  and  methods.  He  was  classed  among  the  English, 
which  was  one  reason  why  Hans  hated  Pieter.  It  was 
through  Pieter's  influence  that  Katryne  had  passed  several 
years  in  Boston,  becoming  familiar  with  the  English 
language.  It  was  a  mystery  to  Hans  how  he  could  have 
consented  to  this  ;  but  Lysbet  had  favored  it,  and  this 
explained  a  part  of  the  mystery.  The  fact  that  the 


PIETEK   THE    SOT.  67 

Boston  relatives  were  rich,  and  that  Hans  thought  this 
channel  of  acquaintance  might  run  with  gold  some  time, 
accounted  for  the  balance  of  the  mystery.  Hans  loaded 
Pieter's  shoulders  with  much  of  the  responsibility  for 
Katryne's  stay  in  Boston. 

The  world  looked  upon  Pieter  as  a  lonely  man  in  its 
midst,  his  wife  having  died,  and  her  dust  was  at  the 
roots  of  some  of  the  wild  roses  blooming  sweetly  each 
summer  in  the  New  Amsterdam  burial-place,  on  the 
North  River  side  of  the  little  town.  Pieter  lived  alone 
somewhere  when  in  New  Amsterdam  ;  but  the  where- 
abouts of  a  sot  who  cared  to  know  ?  Who  cares  to  know 
where  thistles  grow,  save  that  they  may  be  avoided  ? 
Alone  he  might  be  seen  straggling  to  the  water-front  to 
go  off  as  a  sailor,  or  alone  he  would  stray  into  the  wilder- 
ness, and  come  back  with  beaver-skins,  still  alone  though. 

One  person  seemed  to  understand  Pieter,  and  that  was 
Katryne.  He  might  be  inaccessible  to  others  ;  to  Katryne 
an  open  door  was  always  offered.  When  he  was  sober 
he  would  tell  her  of  the  folk-lore  he  had  picked  up 
among  the  Indians,  or  tales  of  the  wide,  mysterious  sea, 
gathered  among  the  sailors  who  sat  by  the  hour  along 
the  water-front,  raconteurs  about  whose  stories  was  a 
smell  of  the  salt  air  off  the  dunes  of  Holland,  of  the 
gales  that  roared  down  upon  England  from  the  sullen 
North  Sea,  of  the  warm  winds  that  swept  the  shores  of 
West  Africa.  When  Katryne  was  a  child  Uncle  Pieter 
would  tell  her  strange  stories  about  Hendrik  Hudson,  as 


68  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

the  Dutch  have  called  the  Englishman,  and  her  black  eyes 
would  open  wider  and  wider,  as  if  to  catch  in  their  shining 
depths  all  that  Uncle  Pieter  said — how  in  the  deep,  dark 
ravines  of  the  Catskills  still  lived  the  ghostly  Hendrik  ; 
and  what  was  thunder  but  the  rolling  of  the  round, 
heavy  bowlders  by  Hudson  and  his  spirit  crew  as  they 
pursued  their  games  ?  In  this  eager,  frank,  enthusiastic 
Uncle  Pieter — provided  lie  were  sober— Katryne  had  a 
sympathetic  companion.  They  now  talked  together  as 
they  went  to  the  washer-maids'  rendezvous,  he  carrying 
the  clothes,  she  playing  with  the  arrow  of  gold,  whose 
flight  under  her  chin  and  across  her  cape  had  been  pictu- 
resquely checked.  Not  in  any  way  did  he  notice  the  fact 
that  she  was  going  off  with  the  family  wash,  but  it 
seemed  as  if  she  were  always  accustomed  to  it,  and  as  if 
Pieter  the  sot  were  always  in  the  habit  of  accompany- 
ing this  fair  maid  of  Manhattan.  Was  he  just  Pieter 
the  sot  ?  No,  no  ! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

PIETER   THE    SCHOLAR. 

THEY  chatted  on  various  subjects  as  they  passed  through 
a  gate  in  the  wall,  and  then  along  the  path*  leading  to  the 
bright,  clean  waters,  attracting  New  Amsterdam's  maids 
with  their  bundles  of  linen.  They  talked  busily ;  and  how 
well  informed  Katryne's  companion  showed  himself  to 
be !  To  Katryne,  when  younger,  it  had  often  seemed  as 
if  Uncle  Pieter  were  a  bundle  of  knowledge,  so  full,  so 
valuable,  she  could  only  think  of  those  big,  precious  packs 
of  beaver-skins  the  savages  brought  to  New  Amsterdam. 
What  did  he  not  know  ?  Somewhere  he  had  attended  a 
school  that  gave  him  a  knowledge  of  Latin,  and  Katryne 
had  heard  it  said  that  in  the  days  of  one  of  the  dominiesf 
of  New  Amsterdam  Pieter  would  even  venture  at  times 
to  cross  linguistic  swords  with  the  dominie  himself,  and 
fight  out  a  Latin  duel  to  the  mortifying  end,  and  gen- 
erally the  dominie  was  the  one  to  be  mortified. 

As  Pieter  now  talked  he  ceased  to  be  Pieter  the  sot. 
He  generally  carried  his  head  low  down,  as  if  ashamed. 
Now  he  stood  erect,  and  the  eyes,  so  often  hidden  and 
averse  to  a  direct  look,  flashed  with  the  light  of  that 

*  Maiden  Lane,  T"  Maagde  Paatje. 

f  Spelled  "dominie"  in  some  old-time  documents.  See  B  B.  O'Cal- 
laghan's  History  of  New  Netherland,  Vol.  I.,  p.  450,  Vol.  II.,  p.  567. 


70  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

self-respect  which  the  possession  of  knowledge  always 
brings,  and  which  confronts  the  world  promptly.  He 
was  Fieter  the  scholar.  He  told  about  New  England 
history  ;  told  of  the  old  days  at  Manhattan  ;  told  of  the 
north  country,  through  which  he  had  travelled  to  Fort 
Orange  and  beyond,  answering  questions  about  Holland 
or  dropping  a  bit  of  Latin.  Oh,  it  was  such  a  happy 
change  from  an  animal  life,  as  an  indigent  gin-drinker, 
to  the  standing  of  a  respected  savant,  displaying  his 
stores  of  knowledge  witli  a  pride  greater  than  that  of 
any  New  Amsterdam  trader  opening  in  his  low-storied 
shop  bales  of  shining  stuffs  from  the  Old  World. 

Katryne  noticed  it  all,  though  she  did  not  appreciate 
the  reason  for  it.  She  was  the  beautiful  fairy,  the  celes- 
tial being,  who  had  crossed  the  path  of  Pieter  the  sot, 
and  with  the  skilful  stroke  of  love's  magie  wand  had 
changed  him  to  Pieter  the  scholar.  She  plied  him 
with  questions,  deferentially  appealing  to  his  superior 
knowledge,  that  she,  the  ignorant  Katryne,  and  now 
astray  in  her  ignorance,  might  be  set  in  the  right  path. 
Suddenly  she  stopped  and  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  that  sav- 
age !" 

It  was  an  Indian  stealing  along  the  green  skirts  of  a 
pine  grove,  bearing  in  his  arms  a  bundle  of  skins,  and 
heading  for  the  wall-gate  they  had  recently  left. 

"  I  do  not  feel  at  ease  when  the  savages  are  near, 
Uncle  Pieter, "  said  Katryne,  shrinking  close  up  to  the 
Schuyler  wash  and  its  bearer. 


PIETER   THE    SCHOLAR.  71 

"  Never  do  thou  fear,  child,  when  Uncle  Pieter  is 
near.  1  have  seen  so  many  of  the  savages  that  they  are 
only  common  things  in  my  eyes." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  ever  forget  the  fright  they  gave 
me — let  me  think — it  will  be  eight  years  ago  this  com- 
ing autumn."* 

"  After  the  stealing  of  Yan  Dyck's  peaches  ?  1  was 
away  then." 

"  Yes,  Hendrick  van  Dyck." 

That  irruption  of  savages  was  a  memorable  one.  Hen- 
drick van  Dyck  had  an  orchard  near  North  River,  not 
far  from  Rector  Street  to-day.  Pomona's  brush  must 
have  laid  a  tempting  crimson  on  some  of  the  fruit,  for 
an  unfortunate  squaw,  wandering  into  the  orchard,  fell 
before  this  fascination,  like  a  far-away  ancestor  in  the 
story  of  a  still  fairer  garden  ;  the  savage  squaw  helped 
herself.  In  this  interesting  but  risky  pursuit  of  pleasure 
without  permission,  she  was  surprised  by  the  irate  owner, 
and  he  cruelly  shot  her  down.  The  savages  had  in  their 
breasts  a  nature  too  much  like  the  nature  in  Dutch  and 
English  breasts,  and  planned  a  night  attack  upon  New 
Amsterdam,  filling  over  sixty  canoes  with  hundreds  of 
their  dusky  forms. f  One  count  has  set  the  number  at 
nineteen  hundred.  From  five  to  eighteen  hundred  of 
New  Amsterdam's  nocturnal  assailants  are  said  to  have 

*  September,  1655. 

f  History  of  New  Netherland,  E.  B.  O'Callaghan,  Vol.  II., 
p.  290. 


72  BEHIND    MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

been  armed.  These  canoes,  loaded  with  revenge,  shot 
through  the  late  shadows  of  the  night,  and  across  the 
dark  water  to  the  shores  of  New  Amsterdam,  landing 
ere  day  had  broken. 

The  conversation  about  this  unhappy  episode  was  re- 
sumed at  this  point,  and  Pieter  asked  Katryne  if  she 
could  herself  remember  much  of  the  affair. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Uncle  Pieter  !  Why,  1  saw  them  with 
these  very  eyes.  When  they  had  paddled  their  canoes 
ashore,  they  got  out  and  went  everywhere.  It  was 
Johanna  that  awoke  me,  saying,  '  Hush-sh-sh  !  Come  ! ' 
Uncle  Pieter,  was  not  that  enough  to  startle  one  ? — '  Hush  ! 
Come  !  '  Across  the  floor  I  scampered  to  a  window, 
and  looked  out.  There  they  were,  the  savages,  and  in 
our  very  streets.  It  was  all  so  very  strange,  that  crowd 
of  savages.  And  that  was  the  way  all  over  New  Am- 
sterdam. They  broke  into  several  houses,  too.  They 
said  they  were  looking  for  savages  from  the  north,  but 
they  really  wanted  revenge  for  the  squaw's  death.  The 
council,  they  got  together  in  the  fort,  and  the  magis- 
trates and  some  of  the  leading  people,  too.  If  Heer 
Director  Stuyvesant  had  been  here,  he  would  have 
stormed  at  them  ;  but  he  was  away." 

Uncle  Pieter  laughed.  "  They  knew  when  to  come — 
when  old  Wooden-leg  was  away.  He  would  have  shaken 
his  wooden  leg  at  them,  Katryne,  I  trow,  and  fright- 
ened them  out  of  the  town." 

"  Some  of  the  chiefs  went  into  the  fort,  and  they  were 


PIETER   THE    SCHOLAR.  73 

asked  what  they  wanted.  The  talk  went  on,  and  1  have 
heard  my  father  say  they  agreed  at  sunset  to  leave  the 
town  and  go  to  Nut  Island,  and  still  they  did  not  go. 
They  were  more  saucy  toward  night.  1  can  see  them 
now,  just  as  when  I  looked  out  of  the  window.  No  one 
could  say  what  might  happen,  but  that  the  streets  would 
run  with  blood,  for  Van  Dyck  was  killed — they  shot 
him  in  the  breast  with  an  arrow — and  Captain  Leendert- 
sen  they  struck  down  with  an  axe.  Uncle  Pieter, 
I  never  heard  such  a  noise  in  the  town,  for  people  were 
running  about  and  shouting.  Then  the  soldiers  came 
marching  from  the  fort,  and  they  looked  very  fierce  and 
were  determined  to  make  short  work  of  it.  They 
marched  upon  the  savages  and  drove  them  to  their 
canoes  ;  and,  oh,  how  the  wretches  scampered  !  Three 
of  the  savages  were  left  dead  on  the  shore,  and  two  of 
our  people  were  killed.  Then  the  canoes  went  across 
North  River,  and  soon  a  fire  broke  out  there,  and  the 
red  light  was  in  the  sky  everywhere.  1  remember, 
Johanna  took  me  by  the  hand  and  led  me  up  a  hill,  and 
we  looked  off,  and  there  was  the  light  in  the  west,  the 
strange  red  flame.  That  was  over  in  Hoboken,  people 
said.  The  savages  set  Pavonia  on  fire,  too.  They 
killed  every  man  save  Michel  Jansen's  family,  and  the 
cattle,  too,  they  killed,  and  carried  off  a  lot  of  the 
women  and  children.  Next,  Uncle  Pieter,  they  went 
to  Staten  Island,  and  kept  on  murdering  there.  Oh, 
what  an  awful  time  that  was  !" 


74  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

"  And  all  for  a  few  peaches  stolen  from  Van  Dyck's 
orchard  did  Yan  Dyck  kill  the  thief  ;  and  in  return 
for  the  woman  killed,"  said  Uncle  Pieter,  "  did  the  sav- 
ages fill  up  a  bloody  measure — eye  for  eye,  tooth  for 
tooth  !" 

Yes,  the  Indians  did  fill  to  the  brim  the  measure  of 
blood  for  three  days,  the  Dutch  losing,  it  is  said,  a  hun- 
dred people  ;  while  over  three  hundred  lost  their  homes 
and  goods,  their  clothing,  their  very  bread,  and  a  sor- 
rowful hundred  and  fifty  took  the  path  of  captivity  that 
the  savages  knew  so  well  how  to  plant  with  sharpest 
thorns.  If  Yan  Dyck,  out  in  his  orchard  the  day  before 
the  theft,  had  said  that  the  deep,  ripened  tints  on  his 
fruit  looked  like  blood,  and  it  was  a  bad  omen,  he  would 
have  been  a  better  reader  of  the  future  than  he  proved 
to  be  a  follower  of  that  gospel  of  peace  which  the  bell 
of  St.  Nikolaas  in  the  fort  proclaimed  each  Lord's  day. 
Heer  Director  Stuyvesant  soon  returned  to  New  Am- 
sterdam, and  his  energetic,  resolute  spirit  was  felt  like  a 
strengthening  wind  from  the  sea  in  weary  August.  He 
went  to  work  at  once.  He  gave  the  town  courage. 
Among  other  measures  pushed,  he  ordered  out  of  the 
ships  about  to  sail  all  of  the  passengers  who  could  carry 
arms,  and  told  them  not  to  go  "  until  it  should  please 
God  to  change  the  aspect  of  affairs."  That  is  one  way 
to  secure  and  see  a  divine  change  in  human  events,  to 
try  to  effect  a  change  ourselves. 

"  Katryne,"  broke  out  Uncle   Pieter    solemnly,    "I 


PIETER   THE    SCHOLAR.  75 

think  1  must  go  to  fight  the  savages.  I  do  not  go  to 
avenge  the  dead,  but  rather  to  protect,  the  living.  1  can 
see  trouble  ahead.  I  know  how  bloodthirsty  the  savages 
are,  but  we  who  are  wiser  have  too  often  set  them  a 
poor  example.  Think,  child,  of  Van  Dyck  !  Yes,  1 
can  see  long  trouble.  The  whites  will  push  out  farther 
and  farther,  and  the  savages  refuse  to  fall  back  before 
them,  and  there  will  be  long,  long  conflict.  The  whites 
must  suffer  for  their  mistakes,  and  the  savages  will  prove 
vindictive.  I  am  not  going  to  avenge  anybody  though, 
but  protect  the  innocent  and  get  out  of  captivity  those 
that  are  prisoners." 

What,  Pieter  the  sot  become  Pieter  the  scholar,  and 
next,  Pieter  the  soldier  ? 

"  1  take  it,  Uncle  Pieter,  that  somebody  must  go, 
though  I — I — don't  want  thee  to  go.  Think  well  upon 
it." 

"  I  will,  Katryne,  think  long  and  well.  Long  ago  1 
found  out  we  must  have  a  sharp  eye  to  the  start  of 
things.  O  Katryne,  thou  wilt  marvel  as  I  say  it,  but 
I  would  that  I  could  go  back  to  the  start — to  my  youth 
and  begin  again  !  Take  warning  by  me,  and  before 
starting  in  any  important  matter,  think,  think  it  over  ! 
If  it  is  any  way  doubtful,  don't  do  it,  don't  start.  Dear 
Katryne,  whom  I  have  always  loved,  take  warning  by 
thy  Uncle  Pieter.  Oh,  I  have  lived  so  long  and  have 
seen  how  much  misery  may  grow  out  of  a  wrong  begin- 
ning— yes,  so  long  have  I  lived  to  see  it  !' ' 


76  BEHIND    MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

In  a  kind  of  awe  she  gazed  into  his  deep,  serious, 
searching  eyes.  Had  he  lived  so  long  ?  How  long  ? 
If  very  long,  then,  of  course,  he  must  know  many  things 
about  her  family,  about  her  parents,  who  they  were, 
where  they  lived. 

In  an  instant  a  desire  swelled  in  her  heart ;  another 
moment  out  it  came. 

"  O  Uncle  Pieter,  living  so  long,  and  knowing — 
knowing — " 

She  hesitated.  Could  Pieter  the  scholar,  with  all  his 
knowledge,  enlighten  her  upon  this  dusky  subject  ? 

She  would  try  him.  She  began  again  :  "  O  Uncle 
Pieter,  knowest  thou  whose  child  I  am  ?  Am  I  the 
child  of  Hans  and  Lysbet  Schuyler  ?  Tell— tell  me, 
good  uncle,  I  pray  thee  !" 

What  a  change  there  was  now  in  Pieter  the  scholar  ! 

He  burst  into  tears.  He  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands.  He  broke  out  in  passionate  entreaty  : 

"  Oh,  don't,  don't,  Katryne  !  God  have  mercy  on 
me  !  I  did  mean — those  in  Boston  would  tell  thee  that 
1  did  mean  right — that — but  oh,  I  don't  know  !" 

Pieter  the  scholar  was  now  so  ignorant  and  bewil- 
dered, and  Pieter  the  soldier  was  weak  as  a  reed  on 
the  banks  of  the  North  River,  a  reed  prostrated  by  the 
wind.  He  broke  away  from  her  detaining  hands, 
dropped  his  laundry  load,  and  hastened  toward  a  clump 
of  trees.  As  he  went  he  staggered,  reeling  once  more 
like  Pieter  the  sot.  As  he  disappeared  in  the  little 


PIETER   THE    SCHOLAR.  77 

grove,  Katryne  groaned,  "  Poor  Uncle  Pieter,  what 
have  1  done  ?" 

Dazed,  she  picked  up  her  basket,  and  trudged  with 
the  other  maidens  along  the  beaten  path  to  her  place  of 
work.  All  her  task  was  done  mechanically.  She 
washed  like  a  machine.  She  finished  her  work  like  a 
machine.  She  took  up  her  load  and,  beginning  her 
walk  back  to  the  wall,  moved  like  a  machine.  All  the 
time  she  was  thinking.  Again  and  again  she  asked, 
"What  have  I  done  to  Uncle  Pieter?"  Then  she 
would  say,  "  What  has  Uncle  Pieter  done  ?  Has  he 
injured  my  parents  ?  That  must  be  it,  and  he  is  sorry." 
Here  she  would  go  over  another  path  :  "  But  he  did 
not  mean  anything  wrong,  and  there  were  those  in  Bos- 
ton who  could  say  that."  Then  she  would  travel  an- 
other road  :  "  Ought  I  not  to  go  to  Boston,  and  find 
out  what  I  can  ?" 

"  Go  to  Boston  !"  When  she  reached  the  land  gate 
in  New  Amsterdam's  wall,  she  turned  and  looked  off 
upon  the  region  known  as  Manhattan  Island.  There  was 
the  road  to  New  Haerlem,*  the  way  that  pilgrims  by 
land  always  took  when  they  went  to  New  England. 

Wolfert  Webber's  tavern  was  the  last  place  they  left 

*  It  was  resolved  in  1658  by  Heer  Director  Stuy  vesant  and  Coun- 
cil to  "  form  a  new  village  at  the  northeastern  extremity  of  Manhat- 
tan Island  '  for  the  promotion  of  agriculture  and  as  a  place  of  amuse- 
ment for  the  citizens  of  New  Amsterdam.'  " — History  of  New 
Nctherland,  E.  B.  O'Callaghan,  Vol.  II.,  p.  428. 


78  BEHIND   MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

on  the  borders  of  New  Amsterdam,  and  then  through 
the  wilderness— so  beautiful  in  summer,  a  big  concert 
gallery  for  the  birds— they  went  to  the  tavern  at  New 
Haerlem.  Uncle  Pieter  had  told  her  about  his  journey 
thence  to  the  river  bold  Adriaen  Block  had  discovered, 
and  named  as  Fresh  River,  sometimes  called  Fresh- water 
Eiver — our  Connecticut.  On  this  river,  Uncle  Pieter 
had  also  told  her,  the  Dutch,  in  1633,  had  bought  a  tract 
of  land,  paying  the  Indians  "  one  piece  of  duffels, 
twenty-seven  ells  long,  six  axes,  six  kettles,  eighteen 
knives,  one  sword-blade,  one  shears,  and  some  toys."* 
Then  they  built  a  trading-post  and  called  it  "  The  House 
of  G-ood  Hope,"  and  to  make  it  as  hopeful  as  possible, 
they  put  there  two  cannon  to  frown  away  and  growl 
away  if  need  be.  This  fort  was  in  the  present  city  of 
Hartford.  Uncle  Pieter  had  told  Katryne  that  the  Eng- 
lish did  not  like  this,  and  Governor  Winthrop,  of  Massa- 
chusetts, sent  a  letter  from  Boston,  declaring  that  his 
master,  Great  Britain's  king,  owned  that  land.  The 
Dutch  and  the  English  were  always  throwing  pepper 
into  one  another's  eyes,  and  the  English  threw  the  bigger 
handfuls.  The  eyes  at  the  fort  of  Good  Hope  were 
finally  put  out,  and  hope  for  the  Dutch  cause  became 


Uncle  Pieter  had  more  than  once  detailed  to  Katryne 
the  windings  of  the  way  to  Boston  through  the  country 

*  History    of    New    Netherland,    E.    B.    O'Callaghan,    Vol.   I., 
p.  151. 


PIETER   THE   SCHOLAE.  79 

watered  by  the  Fresh  River,  until  at  Springfield  the 
road  bent  eastward,  going  on  to  Boston,  and  was  known 
as  the  Bay  Path.  Once  Katryne  had  gone  over  this 
path,  and  she  had  often  in  thought  traversed  the  way, 
fragrant  with  the  balsamic  odor  of  the  pines,  tuneful 
with  the  songs  of  the  birds,  and  worn  by  many  patient, 
pilgrim  feet.  Oh,  she  now  thought,  could  she  not  find 
her  way  to  Boston,  seek  out  her  relatives,  learn  about 
herself,  and  escape  forever  from  Van  Schenkel  and  his 
ally,  Hans  ?  The  idea  so  possessed  her,  that  it  occupied 
all  her  attention,  and  the  messenger  from  Olympus  no 
longer  walked  erect  and  queenly,  but  witli  bowed  head. 
Laundry  work  had  disarranged  and  rumpled  her  dress, 
and  her  hose  and  high-heeled  shoes  were  mud-spattered. 

Hans  Schuyler's  crow-step  gables  were  on  De  Heeren 
Graft,  near  the  canal  that  welcomed  the  lighters  loaded 
with  goods  from  the  ships  that  had  visited  Holland  and 
England  and  Africa  or  the  Indies,  East  and  West. 
Katryne  was  not  long  in  reaching  the  door,  doubly 
guarded  by  the  dog-and-lion  knocker.  Still  in  a  deeply 
thoughtful,  wondering  mood,  she  was  roused  from  it 
thoroughly  by  an  immediate  order  from  Hans  to  rub 
that  knocker.  It  was  another  stage  in  Hans'  process  of 
"bringing  her  under."  She  said  nothing,  but  sub- 
missively went  to  work.  All  the  while  she  was  busily 
thinking. 

Hans'  command  to  take  the  clothes  behind  the  wall, 
and  his  subsequent  order  to  rub  the  knocker,  only  con- 


80  BEHIND   MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

firmed  her  in  her  conviction  that  he  had  not  a  real, 
fatherly  interest  in  her.  If — if — she  continued  to  think 
— he  went  so  far  as  to  insist  on  her  marriage  with  Dirk 
Yan  Schenkel,  would  she  not  be  justified  in  seeking  a 
refuge  among  her  New  England  relatives?  Perhaps 
she  could  get  a  chance  to  go  in  a  vessel  ;  but,  she 
thought  with  alarm,  what — what  if  Van  Schenkel,  that 
cruel  courier  of  the  sea,  should  chase  after  her  ! 

"  Oh,  what  is  that  !"  she  exclaimed  abruptly.  She 
ceased  to  rub  the  knocker,  for  a  little  tarnish  there  had 
assumed  the  form  of  a  human  profile,  and  it  was  won- 
drously  like  that  of  Dirk  Van  Schenkel.  "  Oh,  how 
very  noble  !"  she  said  ironically.  She  rubbed  a  moment 
longer,  and  the  profile  changed  to  that  of  a  fiend. 
"  Ah  !  ah  !"  she  exclaimed  in  disgust  ;  "  that  is  Van 
SchenkeFs  real  look.  Once  I  saw  him  when  he  had 
been  looking  very  handsome,  and  the  handsome  all  went 
like  a  bit  of  fog,  and  he  looked  then  like  one  of  those 
ugly  monsters  they  say  are  in  the  deep  sea.  Oh,  I  don' t 
love  thee  at  all,  Van  Schenkel,  but  I  detest  thee  ! 
And  what  did  I  hear  mother  drop  this  morning  before 
I  left  home  ?  That  Captain  Van  Schenkel  is  again  press- 
ing father  to  go — no,  he  is  not  my  father — into  the  fine 
house  he  owns  that  happens  to  be  empty.  Father  says 
it  will  be  good  economy  for  us,  as  we  can  let  this.  No, 
the  fine  house  will  be  only  a  cage  to  catch  and  hold 
Katryne.  Then  will  come  the  marriage  I  detest.  Oh, 
thou  sea-dragon,  Van  Schenkel,  wanting  to  get  us  into 


PIETER   THE   SCHOLAR.  81 

thy  power,  and  then  who  will  defend  us  !  That  shall 
not  be.  1  arn  going  to  New  England" — here  there 
came  an  intense  rub  to  express  energy  of  purpose — "  yes, 
I  am  going  ;  yes — yes" — harder  and  harder  came  the 
rubs.  "  Ah  !  ah  !"  she  exclaimed.  She  saw  that  line 
running  up  and  down  the  side  of  the  knocker,  remind- 
ing the  polisher  that  it  could  be  separated  into  halves. 
"  I  will  open  this,"  she  said  eagerly.  She  pushed  hard 
upon  Leo  and  Cerberus,  Caesar  and  Brutus,  harder, 
harder,  and  as  the  knocker  disclosed  its  depths  to  her, 
lo  !  a  slip  of  paper  within  !  "  What  can  this  be  ?"  she 
wondered.  She  removed  the  paper,  and  as  she  could 
easily  read  English  scrip,  she  at  once  began  to  enunciate 
this  advice  :  "  Go  slow — when — thou— art— angry.  Do 
—not— go — at  —  all  —  when— thou— kno  west — not — the 
-way."  "Why,  this  is— " 

"  Katryne,"  said  a  solemn  voice  within. 

Startled,  she  thrust  the  paper  within  her  bodice,  re- 
placed the  lid  of  that  knocker-chest,  and  began  to  rub 
again  fiercely,  while  silently.  The  door  was  ajar,  and 
a  voice  issued  :  *'  Go  upstairs  now  !" 

Had  Hans  seen  her,  the  door  being  ajar  ?  She  did 
not  stop  to  consider  this  question,  but  flew  upstairs  to 
her  room,  behind  one  of  the  checkered  gables,  and 
closed  the  door. 

u  How  he  frightened  me  !"  she  said,  going  to  a 
window,  and  looking  out  upon  the  East  River.  She 
counted  the  tired  vessels  resting  at  their  moorings. 


82  BEHIND    MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

Then  she  pulled  the  slip  of  paper  out  of  her  bodice,  and 
read  again  the  advice  of  some  unknown  counsellor. 
Thinking,  thinking,  she  watched  the  vessels,  the  few 
boats  busily  rowed  here  and  there,  and  the  Long  Island 
shore.  Who  was  giving  her  advice  about  a  flight  to 
New  England  ?  "  Did  Tncle  Pieter  put  that  advice 
into  the  knocker  ?  It  is  not  his  way  of  writing,  and  he 
does  not  know  about  the  secret  place  in  the  knocker.  It 
is  some  one  else,"  she  continued  to  reflect,  "  and  it  is 
really  good  advice.  Katryne,  Katryne,  thou  must  not 
act  in  haste  !  What  vessel  is  there  going  to  New  Eng- 
land, or  who  is  going  by  land  ?  1  am  impatient.  Shall 
I  write,  '  1  will  not  go,'  and  place  that  in  the  knocker  ? 
It  is  pleasant  to  think  some  one  is  interested  in  you. 
Let  me  think  ;  I  will  say,  '  I  take  thy  advice,  kind 
friend,  and  will  not  go.'  Oh,  that  is  the  dearest  old 
knocker  in  the  world  !  I  love  it." 

She  quickly,  softly  stole  downstairs,  and  slipped  into 
the  knocker  this  message,  "  I  take  thy  advice,  kind 
friend,  and  will  not  go."  Wondering  who  would  take 
it  out — if  it  might  be  somebody  young  and  fair  and 
courtly  as  "  that  young  Englishman" — she  noiselessly 
tripped  upstairs. 

Katryne  delighted  in  a  mystery,  and  this  one  seemed 
so  opportune— yes,  a  mystery  that  only  she  and  one 
unknown  person  knew  anything  about.  Who  was  this 
somebody,  so  noble-looking  and  knightly  and  youthful  ? 

She  had  no  more  than  reached  her  room  when  some- 


PIETEB   THE    SCHOLAR.  83 

body  threescore,  pig- featured,  and  obese  came  out  to  the 
door,  and  manipulating  the  knocker,  took  out  Katryne's 
message,  grinning  and  muttering  : 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  When  she  came  down  to  polish  the  knocker 
she  left  the  door  open,  just  enough  for  me  to  look  out 
and  see  her  open  this.  Now,  let  me  look  at  it.  Bah  ! 
I  can't  read  it.  That  wicked  girl  did  not  write  in  good, 
sensible  Dutch.  In  my  own  house,  my  own  knocker, 
and  yet  I  cannot  read  it !  That  wicked  girl !  I'll  move 
to  Van  Schenkel's  house,  and  get  her  away  from  this 
knocker — yes,  1  will.  To  think  of  this,  in  my  own 
house,  and  that  she  did  not  write  in  Dutch  !' ' 

Sulkily  grunting,  he  waddled  back  to  his  arm-chair, 
taking  Katryne's  message  with  him.  Xatryiie  passed 
the  time  until  evening  upstairs. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A    MYSTERIOUS     BOX. 

"  COME  to  supper,  my  child  !"  said  a  voice  at  the  foot 
of  the  brown  stairway  leading  to  the  room  where  Katryne 
had  been  ordered  by  Hans.  It  was  the  voice  of  Lysbet, 
and  in  its  sympathetic  tones  Katryne  recognized  an  ally. 

"I  will,  mother." 

As  soon  as  Katryne  had  reached  the  table  and  seen 
Hans,  she  promptly  recognized  an  enemy.  That  sullen, 
flushed  face  told  its  own  story.  When  angry,  Hans 
would  show  it  at  the  table  plainly.  He  might  not  say 
anything,  but  he  would  look  off  and  scowl,  his  jaws,  too, 
would  snap  rapidly  and  spitefully,  and  he  would  occa- 
sionally grunt. 

A  kindly,  philanthropic  mood  is  likely  to  set  in  when 
an  offended  being  may  have  had  his  dinner  or  supper. 
Hans,  though,  at  the  close  of  supper  was  no  more  molli- 
fied than  at  the  beginning. 

Katryne  saw  everything.  She  noticed,  too,  that  Lysbet 
was  placid  and  was  disposed  to  talk.  When  Hans  twice 
cleared  his  throat,  as  if  about  to  speak,  Lysbet  turned  a 
distressed  look  toward  him,  and  imploringly  uttered  one 
word—  "Don't  1" 


A   MYSTERIOUS   BOX.  85 

"  Something  has  been  said  about  me,  1  know,"  de- 
clared Katryne.  "  1  am  in  the  midst  of  a  storm.  What 
can  it  be  ?  What  can  I  do  ?" 

It  was  indeed  an  atmosphere  of  storm.  Hans  had 
taken  to  an  English  fellow-citizen  the  paper  taken  from 
the  knocker.  Pie  had  read  it  to  Hans,  and  Hans  was  in 
a  whirlwind.  Going — where  was  Katryne  going  ? 
Would  she  leave  her  home  ?  Was  that  intended  ?  Go- 
ing somewhere  !  Did  it  mean  an  unwillingness  to  go  to 
Van  Schenkel's  house  ?  Hans'  soul  was  in  a  maelstrom. 

Katryne  had  seen  this  mood.  What  could  she  do  ? 
Had  she  better  say  anything  ?  There  came  to  her  aid 
the  advice  from  the  knocker,  "  Do  not  go  at  all  when 
thou  knowest  not  the  way."  "  That  means,  be  quiet. 
I  will  not  say  anything,"  resolved  Katryne.  "  I  will 
be  as  patient  and  good  as  I  can  be,  and  I  will  help 
wherever  I  can." 

It  was  a  pretty  sight  to  see  Katryne  waiting  on  Hans 
and  Lysbet.  There  was  the  pouting  Hans,  fiercely  eat- 
ing, snapping  his  jaws,  interjecting  occasional  grunts, 
and  opposite  him  was  the  timorous,  pacific  Lysbet. 
Katryne's  bright  face  in  its  white  cap  hovered  angel- 
like  above  the  table,  and  not  a  word  did  she  say  that 
would  be  regretted  as  a  mistake,  or  as  an  affront  arouse 
resentment.  When  her  work  was  over  and  she  was 
slipping  quietly  away,  then  Lysbet  came  out  of  a  recess, 
as  if  waiting  there  purposely  for  her,  and  she  whispered, 
"  Good  night,  my  dear." 


86  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"   GABLES. 

Katryne  saw  that  Lysbet's  eyes  were  very  red,  and  she 
kissed  the  tired  old  face.  That  made  a  pair  of  red  eyes 
still  redder,  for  Lysbet  was  touched  by  the  younger 
woman's  affection.  Katrvne  then  went  upstairs. 

From  her  window  she  glanced  out  at  the  shipping  in 
East  River,  and  then  thought  of  the  room  opposite  hers, 
of  the  attic  space  that  had  never  been  finished  off,  but 
its  window  gave  a  better  view  of  De  Heeren  Graft,  and 
she  went  to  it.  She  could  see  the  people  lounging  along 
the  borders  of  the  canal,  attracted  by  the  fact  that  two 
lighters  had  arrived,  and  these  in  the  morning  would  be 
unloaded.  A  canoe  appeared  paddled  by  two  savages. 
Somebody  else  was  seen. 

"  Look  !  There  is  Uncle  Pieter  !"  thought  Katryne. 
"  Oil,  I  am  glad  he  has  come  back  !  I  thought  I  must 
have  killed  him,  he  felt  so  bad.  Two  sailors  are  with 
him.  Perhaps  he  will  help  them  unload  one  of  the 
lighters  in  the  morning.  He  will  come  here  the  first 
thing.  Poor  Uncle  Pieter  !  lie  will  want  his  schnapps 
or  beer —  Oh,  there  he  goes  with  the  two  sailors  into 
Van  Arsdale's  wine-shop  !  Too  bad  !" 

She  had  seen  the  proprietor  of  the  wine-shop  standing 
in  its  doorway.  He  was  opening  his  mouth  and  haw- 
hawing,  looking  like  a  big  beast  from  the  woods,  into 
whose  jaws  Uncle  Pieter  had  carelessly  walked.  Ka- 
tryne gave  a  last  look  at  the  canal,  at  the  lighters,  at 
some  neighbor  out  on  the  stoop  of  his  house,  smoking 
his  long  pipe. 


A   MYSTERIOUS    BOX.  87 

She  turned  round.  "  Ah  !"  she  exclaimed,  glancing 
at  a  small  open  box  in  which  was  a  confused  heap  of  old 
documents  and  leather-bound  books ;  "  this  is  what 
mother  said  was  up  here  the  other  day,  and  she  wished 
I  would  look  at  any  English  papers  in  the  box.  Why 
not  make  a  beginning  now  ?" 

She  was  a  quick  reader,  and  she  glanced  in  a  short 
time  at  several  old  books  and  dusty  documents. 

"  What  is  this?"  she  asked.  "  Something  in  Eng- 
lish, and — it  has  the  date  of  the  year  I  was  born  !  This 
is  very  interesting.  How  does  it  begin  ?  Somebody — 
why,  it  reads  like  a  will,  and  what  is  this — why,  '  to  my 
daughter  Katryne  ' — my  very  name."  She  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  sound  of  a  heavy  step  on  the  brown  stair- 
way leading  to  her  room.  ' '  I  can  tell  that— it  is  Hans  !' ' 
she  said,  and  she  threw  down  the  paper  hastily,  as  if  she 
were  in  the  act  of  thieving,  and  the  Director  of  New 
Amsterdam,  its  Governor,  Heer  Pieter  Stuyvesant  him- 
self, had  detected  her,  and  had  come  to  take  her  away 
to  prison.  She  started  for  her  room,  but  at  the  head  of 
the  stairway  a  gruff  voice  detained  her. 

"  Katryne,  thy  mother  wants  thee,  or  I  want  thee." 

Downstairs  she  went,  promptly  following  Hans  Schuy- 
ler,  but  she  left  her  heart  behind  her,  upstairs  in  a  box, 
where  an  old  paper  said,  "  I  give  to  my  daughter  Ka- 
tryne— "  It  might  have  been  a  Katryne  Van  T wilier, 
Smidt,  or  Hegeman  ;  but  no  matter,  it  was  a  member 
of  the  Katryne  family,  whose  case  so  strangely  had  come 


88  BEHIND   MANHATTAN-   GABLES. 

up  out  of  the  dust  and  the  shadows  into  this  present 
twilight. 

"I  want  to  get  back  soon,"  she  thought.  "The 
light  will  not  last  long." 

Hans'  wishes  did  not  necessitate  a  long  absence  for 
Katryne,  as  he  only  wanted  information  about  beaver- 
skins,  and  of  a  man  on  that  street  who  was  expecting  to 
sell  to  Hans. 

' '  What  are  you  hurrying  upstairs  for,  Katryne  ?' ' 
asked  Lysbet,  after  Katryne' s  return  from  the  errand. 

"  Oh,  I  found  something  beginning  like  a  will,  and 
about  one  Katryne — somebody  with  my  name — in  that 
box  thou  didst  tell  me  about." 

"  What  Katryne— what  is  that  ?"  asked  Hans,  turn- 
ing his  long,  heavy  pipe  toward  Katryne.  The  pipe 
seemed  to  swing  his  head. 

"  Oh,  only  a  will  I  was  talking  about." 

"A  will!     Where?" 

' '  Thou  knowest,  Hans,  there  are  some  old  papers  and 
books  in  a  box  upstairs,"  explained  Lysbet. 

"  Yes,  yes  !"  said  Hans.  "  Don't  look  at  them  to- 
night, vrouw." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  look  at  them,  Hans.  To  begin 
with,  they  are  English,  or  some  of  them  are." 

11  Very  well  !     Where  is  Katryne  ?' ' 

That  maiden,  fearful  of  detention,  was  industriously 
using  her  powers  of  locomotion,  but  Hans'  voice  de- 
tained her  feet  pattering  up  the  stairway. 


A   MYSTEKIOUS   BOX.  89 

"  Don't  look  at  that  box  to-night,  Katryne." 

"Why  not,  father?" 

"  It  is  getting  late,  and  it  is  not  good  for  the  eyes." 

"  May  I  in  the  morning  ?" 

There  was  a  short  space  of  paternal  hesitancy. 

"Oh,  yes— yes." 

"  1  shall  like  that  very  much." 

"  Now,  Katryne,  my  dear,  sit  thee  down  here  ! 
Don't  go  upstairs  yet  !  Stay  here  !"  urged  Lysbet. 

"  Come  back  and  sit  thee  down,"  said  Hans.  "  My 
dear  child,  stay  with  us." 

Uncle  Pieter  sometimes  indulged  in  this  affectionate 
style,  and  she  liked  the  sound  of  it  ;  but  it  did  not  seem 
in  place  when  Hans  indulged  in  it,  and  Katryne  sus- 
pected him  at  once.  Why  did  he  want  her  to  stay  down- 
stairs ?  She  hesitated  in  her  obedience. 

"  Katryne,  sit  thee  down  !"  was  now  his  imperative 
direction,  and  she  obeyed  directly. 

Hans  was  quite  gracious  after  this.  Twice  he  pulled 
his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  and  each  time  he  told  a  story. 
One  was  about  Hendrik  Hudson,  and  the  other  praised 
St.  Nikolaas,  two  good  friends  of  New  Amsterdam, 
whose  friendship  was  supposed  to  be  perpetual.  This 
was  very  unusual  in  Hans.  It  pleased  Lysbet,  and  it 
eased  the  smart  of  Katryne's  disappointment  in  not 
seeing  the  mysterious  document  about  one  Katryne. 

"  Good-night,  my  dear  !  St.  Nikolaas  keep  thee,  my 
child  !  In  the  morning  get  up  as  early  as  thou  shalt 


90  BEHIND   MAKHATTAK   GABLES. 

please,    and   take   a  long    look    into   that   box.      Ha  ! 
ha  !" 

In  Hans'  voice  was  there  a  tone  at  all  like  mockery  ? 
Katryne  looked  toward  him  sharply,  but  the  shadows 
hid  his  face.  She  could  only  see  the  fiery  coal  on  the 
top  of  his  pipe.  A  girl  in  the  neighborhood  had  been 
telling  Katryne  about  a  red  light  hovering  stormy  nights 
about  the  horrors  of  Helle-Gat,  that  ugly  place  in  the 
East  River,  where  rocks  and  evil  spirits  abounded, 
where  the  strong  tide  twisting  in  and  out,  and  in  league 
with  the  spirits,  delighted  in  playing  all  kinds  of  pranks 
on  well-minded  but  incautious  vessels.  The  coal  on 
Hans'  pipe  suggested  that  flame  said  to  be  at  Helle-Gat. 

"  Have  a  good  time  looking  at  the  box  in  the  morn- 
ing," said  Lysbet  honestly.  "  God  keep  thee,  my 
child  !" 

"  Good-night,  mother  !     Good -night,  fa-fa-ther  !" 

"Father"  came  out  at  last,  but  in  Katryne's  speech 
the  word  hitched  by  the  way,  like  a  wheel  caught  in  a 
bad  rut. 

Katryne  took  no  light  with  her  when  she  went  upstairs, 
but  felt  her  way  from  story  to  story.  Before  going  into 
her  room  she  stepped  into  what  had  ceased  to  be  an  old 
attic,  a  lumber-room,  and  had  become  a  treasure-house. 
She  struck  with  her  foot  the  box  containing  the  record 
of  a  gift  to  one  Katryne,  and  was  glad  to  have  this  testi 
mony  to  its  presence.  How  would  it  do  to  drag  it  into 
her  room  and  keep  it  by  her  bed,  that  the  first  play  of 


A  MYSTERIOUS   BOX.  91 

the  light  might  reveal  it  to  her  and  quicken  her  interest 
in  behalf  of  one  Katryne  ?  Why  did  not  Hans  let  her 
enjoy  it  ere  the  darkness  behind  the  checkered  gable 
muffled  it  ? 

Other  thoughts  were  abruptly  prevented  by  a  voice 
down  in  the  street.  She  hastened  to  the  window,  gently 
raised  it,  looked  down,  and  listened  :  "  That  sounded 
like  Uncle  Pieter,  as  if  he  were  having  trouble  with 
some  one."  She  heard  other  voices.  They  carne  up 
from  the  canal,  where  glimmered  lights  aboard  the  craft 
there.  That  canal  was  a  cauldron  of  angry  sound  at 
times,  throwing  out  sharp  notes  of  discord  when  the 
lighters  came  in  collision  and  hot-tempered  sailors 
bandied  words  with  one  another  on  the  subject  of  griev- 
ances both  real  and  fancied.  Would  the  cauldron  boil 
over  now  ?  Katryne  heard  the  splashing  of  the  water 
announcing  the  late  arrival  of  another  lighter,  but  no 
Uncle  Pieter' s  voice  was  in  the  sounds  that  rose  to  the 
ears  of  the  Manhattan  maiden  at  the  treasure-room 
window. 

Uncle  Pieter  !  When  Katryne  had  breathed  out  her 
prayers  before  retiring,  her  thoughts  went  back  to  that 
wayward  person.  He  would  probably  come  in  the  morn- 
ing for  his  drain,  and  as  Katryne  would  be  the  first  one 
up,  then  she  would  be  the  one  to  meet  him,  and— and — 
she  pressed  her  lips  together  firmly. 

Katryne  had  been  thinking  upon  the  subject,  and  it 
was  no  abrupt  resolution  she  had  formed  ;  "  I  shall  say 


92  BEHIND   MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

when  he  comes,  '  Uncle  Pieter,  dear  uncle,  wilt  thou 
not  give  this  up  ? '  He  will  say,  perhaps,  '  I  pray  thee, 
give  up  what  ? '  and  I  must  say,  '  Give  up  this  mug  you 
have  each  day  !  '  How  he  will  stare  at  me  !  I  don't 
know  how  I  shall  come  out,  but  I  feel  that  I  must  cer- 
tainly go  in  and  make  a  beginning." 

As  she  lay  in  bed,  pitying  Uncle  Pieter,  who  so  badly 
needed  reformation,  and  pitying  Katryne,  who  must 
attempt  it,  and  praying  to  God  to  make  her  words  wise 
and  effective,  her  thoughts  gradually  shifted  to  that 
other  track  she  wanted  to  follow  with  Uncle  Pieter, 
but  which  he  so  suddenly  broke  away  from — namely, 
"  Whose  child  am  I  ?" 

She  reflected  upon  the  mystery  hanging  about  herself, 
and  she  was  very  sober.  Hark  !  she  caught  the  sound 
of  rain  pattering  on  the  steep  roof.  The  wind  from  the 
great,  gray  sea  had  been  saying  "  Bain"  all  day,  but  the 
sun  had  made  a  brave  effort  at  times  to  shine.  At  the 
hour  for  the  retiring  of  well-behaved  suns,  it  had  tried 
to  stick  its  head  out  of  bed,  assuring  the  world  every- 
thing was  all  right,  but  an  angry  cloud  soon  smothered 
it.  The  threat  of  the  day  had  suddenly  been  executed, 
and  here  was  the  sound  of  rain  on  the  windows  and  rain 
on  the  roof.  What  if  she  had  started  for  New  England 
to  hunt  up  Katryne  Schuyler's  origin,  and  this  rain  had 
pounced  upon  her  !  Her  thoughts  went  out  into  the 
night  in  the  effort  to  follow  that  path  leading  New  Eng- 
landward.  This  solitary  traveller — her  imagination — 


A   MYSTERIOUS   BOX.  93 

moved  in  the  direction  of  the  wall  of  palisades  and 
Wolfert  Webber's  tavern.  Then  alone,  the  rain  beat- 
ing down,  she  made  her  way  beyond  pasture,  pond,  and 
forest,  to  a  tavern  whose  windows  shone  hospitably  in 
the  black  night  about  little  New  Haerlem.  She  paused. 
Should  that  tireless  imagination  travel  farther  in  the 
rainy  night,  journeying  away,  away,  along  the  rocky  or 
the  sandy  shore  to  Fresh  River,  then  up  to  Dutchmanland, 
where  had  stood  the  Fort  of  Good  Hope,  then  hurrying 
through  that  vigorous  English  colony  at  Hartford— and  ? 
She  stopped,  and  the  wandering  child  came  home.  There 
she  lay  upon  her  bed,  her  eyes  wide  open,  staring  at  the 
roof  that  the  rain  seemed  to  think  was  a  keyboard  of 
some  musical  instrument,  and  so  tried  to  find  new  keys 
and  bring  out  new  notes,  all  of  such  musical  sweetness 
and  softness.  How  much  better  to  be  under  the  old 
roof  by  the  canal  in  De  Heeren  Graft  than  out-doors  in 
the  land  of  the  unknown  !  She  remembered  this  was 
the  room  that  sweet  Johanna  filled  with  an  atmosphere  of 
prayer,  and  trusting  God,  Katryne,  like  Johanna  of  other 
days,  crept  under  the  Divine  wings.  Come  life,  come 
death,  whatever  might  happen  to  the  body,  the  soul  had 
its  shelter. 


CHAPTER  Vlll. 

ONE   NIGHT   AND   AFTERWARD. 

FOR  a  while  Katryne  slept  very  soundly.  There  was 
not  even  the  passage  of  a  gentle  dream  to  make  a  ripple 
on  the  stream  of  her  slumbers.  Her  Lethe  was  still  and 
deep.  In  the  dead  of  night,  though,  and  suddenly  she 
awoke.  What  had  aroused  her,  she  could  not  afterward 
say.  Was  it  a  noise  of  drunken  sailors  down  in  the 
street  ?  Was  it  a  shutter  somewhere  about  the  house 
suddenly  slamming  in  a  rising  wind,  and  as  if  noisily 
shouting,  "Wake  up  !"  Was  it  a  disturbance  in  the 
treasure-room  opposite,  a  stumbling  there  by  some  one 
over  a  box — the  box  ?  Whatever  may  have  aroused  her, 
Katryne  was  awake,  and  there— there — on  the  ceiling, 
above  the  stairway  to  the  attic  and  to  Katryne's  room, 
was  a — light  ! 

It  was  like  the  glow  thrown  up  from  a  lamp  borne  by 
some  one  on  the  stairway.  This  some  one  Katryne 
could  not  see.  The  light  on  the  ceiling  passed  away 
with  the  passage  of  a  softened  step  on  the  stairway. 
Darkness  and  solitude  then  !  It  seemed  as  if  the  tem- 
perature of  a  furnace  were  in  the  room,  and  as  if  Ka- 
tryne's heart  were  pressing  toward  her  mouth.  She  was 


ONE   NIGHT  AND  AFTERWARD.  95 

not,  though,  without  reason,  and  she  brought  down  the 
temperature  and  stilled  her  heart  witli  the  reflection, 
"  It  is  mother,  probably,  who  came  up  to  shut  a  window 
and  keep  out  the  ram.  The  window  woke  me  up." 

The  rain  on  the  roof  was  beating  heavily  now.  She 
lay  a  moment  longer  and  said,  "  I  will  see  if  everything 
is  all  right.  "Why,  it  may  be  a  savage  that  has  got  in  ! 
1  saw  canoes  off  in  the  East  Kiver  yesterday  and  then 
down  in  the  canal." 

Katryne  was  not  afraid,  and  if  it  were  an  impudent 
savage  that  had  given  her  a  start,  she  resolved  to  start 
him.  She  was  out  of  bed  at  once,  and  folding  a  shawl 
about  her,  hastened  toward  the  stairway  and  fell  over  a 
chair  at  the  first  step  she  took. 

"  Oli  !  oh  !  That  will  scare  the  savages  anyway. 
What  an  elephant  I  am  !"  She  halted,  sat  down  and 
rubbed  the  pain  out  cf  her  legs.  Downstairs  she  then 
groped.  Opposite  the  door  of  the  room  occupied  by 
Hans  and  Lysbet  she  heard  a  heavy,  prolonged  snore,  a 
wave  of  sound  coming  up,  growing,  breaking,  then 
dying  away. 

"  That  is  father,  or  could  it  have  been  mother  ?"  solil- 
oquized Katryne. 

"  Mother  !"  she  softly  said. 

"  Is  that  Katryne  ?"  asked  Lysbet. 

"  Yes.     Art  thou  awake,  mother  ?" 

"  Yes.  1  thought  1  heard  a  shutter,"  said  Hans' 
spouse  drowsily. 


96  BEHIND    MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

"  Oh,  was  it  mother  that  came  ?"  asked  Katryne. 

"  Y-y-yes,"  was  the  still  more  drowsy  response. 

"  Oh,  good-night,  then,  mother." 

"  G-g-good — good — "  The  last  word  was  swamped 
in  the  big  wave  of  unconsciousness  going  over  Lysbet. 

"  There  !  1  am  rousing  people  for  nothing,  and  1 
will  go  upstairs.  Mother  said  that  she  came  up,  and  1 
saw  mother's  light,"  thought  Katryne. 

Lysbet  meant  that  when  she  had  heard  the  fall  above 
she  went  to  the  foot  of  Katryne's  stairs  and  listened. 
Lysbet  returned  to  her  beloved  couch  very  promptly. 
Yawning,  staggering  along,  relieved  to  think  no  savage 
was  in  the  house,  Katryne  drowsily  felt  her  way  back  to 
her  bed,  and  gratefully  occupied  it. 

In  the  morning  she  was  up  early.  She  opened  her 
Bible  that  years  ago  had  made  the  voyage  across  the 
ocean,  a  copy  of  the  old  Dutch  version  of  Luther's  Ger- 
man Bible,  a  translation  made  about  the  middle  of  the 
century  previous  to  that  of  New  Amsterdam's  settle- 
ment. Some  day  Katryne  might  hope  to  have  that  bet- 
ter Dutch  version  undertaken  in  her  century. 

She  could  not  now  begin  the  day  without  that  supply 
of  strength  for  the  way  to  be  found  in  the  bread  on 
God's  table  set  in  the  House  of  His  Truth  for  hungry 
pilgrims.  This  morning  she  asked  to  be  forgiven,  be- 
cause her  thoughts,  while  reading,  would  stray  from  her 
room  to  the  attic  opposite  and  halt  at  a  box  of  old, 
leather-bound  volumes  and  unknown  papers  in  German 


ONE   NIGHT  AND   AFTERWARD.  9? 

and  English,  but  especially  because  she  would  think  of  a 
will  addressed  to  one  Katryne.  Calling  home  the  un- 
easy birds  that  wanted  to  forsake  their  cages,  Katryne 
reverently  went  through  her  prayers.  Then  she  hastened 
to  the  box.  How  gladly  she  welcomed  the  sight  of  it  ! 
Quickly,  though,  she  held  up  her  hands  above  it  in  a 
sore  surprise.  The  old  books  were  there,  dusty  and 
musty  as  ever.  Papers  were  there,  written  in  German, 
looking  as  uninteresting  as  ever,  but  not  one  paper  in 
English  could  be  seen  !  Such  a  dumbfounded  girl  went 
wearily  downstairs  !  She  wanted  to  stop  at  the  door  of 
Hans  and  Lysbet's  chamber,  and  tell  them  the  house 
had  been  entered  by  a  savage,  one  who  was  surprisingly 
intelligent,  who  could  so  nicely  distinguish  between  lit- 
erary treasures  in  English  and  those  in  German,  that  he 
could  abstract  all  of  the  former  ! 

"  This  is  a  mystery  !"  thought  Katryne,  and  she 
would  have  shared  the  news  with  Hans  and  his  vrouw, 
but  opposite  their  door  Katryne  heard  a  snore  respond- 
ing to  another  snore,  and  on  tiptoe  she  descended  to  the 
kitchen. 

.There  was  much  to  be  done  that  things  might  be 
started  seasonably  for  the  new  day.  Not  only  the  fire 
must  be  kindled  in  the  big  fireplace,  but  the  floor  must 
be  sanded.  Katryne  was  a  dexterous  sand-artist.  The 
white  treasures  of  the  sea,  flung  upon  the  floor,  she 
knew  how  to  switch  with  a  broom  in  graceful  whirls, 
that  might  have  been  taken  as  leaves  of  sand -palms  or 


98  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

as  broad,  graceful  jets  from  an  invisible  san  -fountain. 
This  morning,  though,  she  made  some  ugly  patterns,  for 
the  artist's  mind  was  not  on  the  artist's  work.  She  was 
glad  to  be  interrupted,  and  said  with  relief,  "  Oh,  here 
comes  Uncle  Pieter  !" 

He  had  in  mind  his  morning  dram,  and  was  at  the 
door  opening  into  the  garden,  patiently  waiting  to  be 
admitted. 

"Good-morning,  Uncle  Pieter!"  She  was  address- 
ing Pieter  the  sot,  his  head  bowed,  his  look  dispirited, 
feeble  until  he  had  had  his  morning  dram. 

"  Good-morning  !     Is  my  mug  ready  ?" 

She  filled  a  mug  with  beer.  He  eagerly  emptied  it, 
and  held  it  out  for  refilling. 

"  Kaatje  !"  he  said,  looking  up.  It  was  a  pet  Dutch 
name  he  had  for  her,  and  like  our  "  Katy. "  "  Kaatje,' ' 
he  said  again,  "  my  dear,  I  have  something  I  would  say 
to  thee,  now  that  thou  hast  given  me  something  to  say 
it  with.  Sometimes  this  poor  uncle  has  his  faults  to 
think  of,  and  they  are  a  burden  on  his  back,  and  I  give 
way  beneath  them.  The  folk  upstairs — "  He  paused 
and  looked  up,  as  if  he  thought  some  celestial  being  like 
Hans  might  descend  and  interrupt  him.  There  was  no 
need  of  alarm  if  Hans  had  appeared,  for  Uncle  Pieter 
and  Katryne  always  spoke  in  English,  and  it  was  about 
the  same  as  Chinese  to  Hans.  Uncle  Pieter  continued. 
"  The  folk  upstairs  and  thou  knowest  and  1  know  how 
wicked—" 


ONE   NIGHT   AND    AFTEKWARD.  99 

"  Uncle  Pieter,"  cried  Katryne,  generously  interrupt- 
ing, "  thou  needest  not  confess  to  rne.  I  did  think  thy 
conduct  yesterday  strange,  but  let  it  go  now.  Some- 
thing else  has  happened.  Oh,  how  long  ago  yesterday 
seems  !" 

"  What  is  it  ?"  he  asked  eagerly.  "  It  is  just  as  well 
to  have  a  subject  come  in  at  one  door  and  drive  out 
something  else  at  the  other  door." 

"  Ah,  I  wish  1  did  know  what  door  he  did  come  in 
by  !" 

"  What  meanest  thou  ?"  he  asked  in  surprise,  but  not 
forgetful  to  quaff  his  second  mug  of  beer.  "  What  can 
I  do  for  thee,  Kaatje,  my  dear  ?" 

"  This  house,"  said  Katryne  very  deliberately,  eying 
him  solemnly,  "  this  house  was  entered— by  some  one 
last  night — and  from  the  attic  took  away — stole — some 
papers." 

"  Why,  Kaatje,  my  dear,  my  senses  are  quite  taken 
away  !  A  thief — a  poltroon — a  villain — a  robber — a 
little  more,  my  fair  one  !" 

He  had  enough  of  his  senses  left  to  know  that  he 
wanted  more  beer,  and  he  held  out  his  mug.  She  forgot 
what  last  night  she  purposed  to  say  this  morning  to  an 
old  tippler,  and  without  thought  filled  his  mug  again. 

"  How  was  it  done,  Kaatje  ;  tell  me,  my  fair  maid  ! 
Thou  takest  my  senses  away  !  How  was  it  done,  1  pray 
thee  ?" 

"  1  only  know  that  something  awakened  me  out  of  a 


100  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

sound  sleep.  All  of  a  sudden  I  saw  a  light  on  the  ceil- 
ing, just  as  when  one  on  the  stairs  holds  a  lamp  and  it 
shines  up  overhead.  I  thought  afterward  it  might  have 
been  mother.  I  went  down  to  see  what  it  meant,  and 
she  spoke  to  me  ;  but  thinking  it  over,  1  can  see  that  she 
meant  something  else — and  think  of  it  !  This  morning 
1  find  all— yes,  all  of  a  lot  of  English  papers,  a  will — a — 
everything  is  gone  ;  yes,  stolen,  Uncle  Pieter  !" 

"  My  breath  has  gone  !"  ejaculated  Uncle  Pieter, 
looking  into  his  mug  to  see  that  something  else  had 
gone.  "  It  is  a  vile  piece  of  business  !  Papers,  Kaatje, 
gone?" 

She  was  ashamed  to  say  anything  more  about  a  will  in 
favor  of  one  Katryne,  for  what  knowledge  had  she  that 
this  present  maid  of  Manhattan  was  concerned  in  it  ? 

"  Yes,  papers  all  gone.  1  don't  know  what  else  is 
gone  ;  whether  the  big  silver  tankard — and  father's  big 
silver  mug — " 

"  We  might  look  about  us,"  he  suggested. 

There  was  no  sign  of  any  disturbance  in  that  part  of 
the  house.  On  their  usual  shelf,  the  big,  clumsy  tank- 
ard and  the  big  awkward  mug  faced  one  another  with 
their  usual  stupidity. 

"  Yery  strange  !"  affirmed  Uncle  Pieter.  "  A  little 
more  !"  he  pleaded  sheepishly,  holding  out  his  mug. 
"1  love  thee,  Kaatje  !" 

She  suddenly  went  back  to  her  purpose  of  the  pre- 
vious night.  What  had  she  been  doing  this  morning  ? 


02STE   XIGHT   AXD    AFTEEWARD.  101 

"  How  many  times  have  I  poured  for  thee,  Uncle 
Pieter  ?  That  thief  drove  away  or  took  away  all  my 
thoughts— the  pilferer  !" 

"He  is  a  wretch  ;  but  do  not  ask  me  to  keep  the 
score,  Kaatje,  as  thou  lovest  me." 

"  Uncle  Pieter,  1  love  thee  ;  but— look  at  me  !" 

She  looked  at  him  very  seriously,  this  guzzler,  and  he 
looked  at  her. 

"Listen  !  It  is  too  much  beer  that  goes  into  that 
mug.  Thou  wilt  not  be  offended  with  me  ?  Let  me 
say  it.  It  is  hurting  Uncle  Pieter  ;  yes,  hurting  thee." 

His  eyes  fell  before  that  look  searching  his  heart.  He 
was  deeply  touched,  but  not  offended  by  this  faithful- 
ness, and  he  pushed  his  mug  away.  He  raised  his  head. 
His  battered  old  steeple-crown  hat  with  its  ragged  rim 
he  crowded  back  on  his  forehead,  and  then  took  it  off  as 
if  to  address  some  superior  being.  He  brushed  aside 
his  grayish  locks  thickly  clustered  on  his  high  white 
brow.  He  cleared  his  throat,  and  spoke  in  very  serious 
tones  : 

"  Katryne,  1  have  thought  of  that  myself.  1  know 
I  ought  to  stop,  for  if  1  do  not  it  will  stop  me,  and  stop 
where  I  do  not  wish  to  end.  I — 1 —  Tears  were 
welling  up  into  the  eyes  of  Pieter  the  sot.  "  I  ought 
not  to  disgrace  you  all.  1  know — and — and — " 

"  Why  not  stop  it  all  now" — she  here  pushed  the  beer- 
pitcher  back  on  the  table — "  and  never  again  drink  ?" 

"  1 — 1  cannot  say  that,  Katryne  ;  but  I  will  take  no 


102  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"    GABLES. 

more  this  morning,  and  less  to-morrow,  and  so  on,  and 
I — I  -will  taper  off.  Oh,  1  know  I  must  stop — yes,  I 
must,  and  I  will  in  a  few  days,  for  it  will  stop  me  if  1 
don't.  God  bless  thee,  dear  !  Yes,  I  do  love  thee. 
I — must — stop. " 

His  eyes  in  their  tears  were  like  crystal  lakes.  He 
rose  and  would  have  gone  out  of  the  house,  but  Katryne 
had  thrown  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  held  him  faster 
than  any  moorings  that  had  ever  detained  a  vessel  in 
which  Uncle  Pieter  had  sailed.  She  kissed  him  as  she 
sobbed,  "  Do — do — do  try  and — and — do  pray  !" 

"  God  bless  thee,  God  bless  thee,  my  sweet  Katryne  !" 
"  May  I  tell  thee  a  story  ?"  she  musically  murmured, 
patting  him  fondly  on  the  head  and  twirling  his  gray 
locks  about  her  pretty  fingers. 
"  Oh,  yes,  dear." 

u  it  is  in  my  own  way  1  tell  thee — my  foolish  way." 
"  No  one  can  tell  so  good  a  story  as  Kaatje." 
"  Uncle  Pieter  natters  Kaatje  ;  but  this  is  the  way  I 
learned  it.  I  dare  say  it  needs  straightening  out  and 
trimming  up.  Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  poor  little 
girl,  and  the  gods  wanted  to  do  something  grand  for 
her.  So  they  rilled  a  box  with  presents  and  told  her  not 
to  open  it  then  (what  beautiful  hair  thou  hast,  so  soft 
and  fine  and  plentiful  ;  thou  must  not  let  the  savages 
scalp  thee  !) — and,  where  was  1  ?  Oh,  she  was  not  to 
open  it  then  ;  but  the  poor  little  girl —  just  like  the  rest 
of  us — she  peeped  into  the  box,  and — what  happened  ? 


ONE   NIGHT   AND   AFTERWARD.  103 

Alas  !  on  wings  out  flew  the  gifts,  leaving  a  scared  little 
girl  looking  so  sorrowful,  but  at  the  bottom  of  the  box 
was  Hope.  Dear  Uncle  Pieter,  there  is  always  Hope  at 
the  bottom  of  the  box — how  beautiful  thy  hair  is,  so 
soft  and  thick  !" 

"  God  bless  thee  !  I  will  not  forget.  God  bless  thee  ! 
Uncle  Pieter  will  yet  be  master.  There  is  Hope  at  the 
bottom  of  the  box." 

He  soon  quit  the  house,  saying,  "  Fare  thee  well  !" 

Katryne  took  up  her  broom  and  flourished  this  con- 
juror's staff  among  white  heaps  of  sand,  making  palm- 
leaves  grow  and  sand-fountains  play. 

When  Hans  and  Lysbet  came  downstairs  they  were 
full  of  astonishment  at  the  situation.  Some  one  in  the 
dead  of  night  going  up  the  stairs  to  the  attic  ! 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  it  was  not  the  mother  in  this  home," 
asserted  Lysbet.  "  Oh,  the  hardened  villain  !'• 

Hans  showed  his  interest  by  an  unusual  activity  of 
tongue.  It  seemed  as  if  he  must  tell  everybody.  He  first 
notified  the  sailors  in  a  lighter  down  in  the  canal.  "  And 
have  you  seen  anybody  come  out  of  my  house — any  vil- 
lain, any  one  ?' ' 

"  We  saw  you." 

Hans  thought  it  was  very  bright.  Then  he  laughed 
and  ran  to  tell  the  neighbors.  He  twitched  the  velvet 
skirts  of  Heer  Director  Stuyvesant,  for  his  majesty  at 
an  early  hour  was  stumping  vigorously  on  his  wooden 
leg  across  the  bridge  over  the  canal.  Hans  reported 


104  BEHIHD   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

that  his  majesty  was  very  much  excited  by  the  news. 
Notwithstanding  all  this  detective-like  vigilance,  nobody 
could  be  found  that  knew  anything  about  the  thief  or 
the  theft. 

"Uncle  Pieter,  when  he  was  next  seen,  had  little  to 
report.  He  had  given  the  drowsy  garrison  at  the  fort  a 
faithful  stirring  up,  and  it  seemed  as  if  they  wanted  to 
turn  all  the  rusty  old  guns  toward  Hans  Schuyler's 
gables  to  blaze  away  the  moment  a  thief  was  seen  leav- 
ing that  spot,  no  matter  what  became  of  the  house. 
Pieter  made  this  report  the  next  morning,  when  Katryne 
was  flourishing  her  marvellous  broom  over  the  clean 
little  heaps  of  sand,  conjuring  out  of  these  more  sand 
palm-leaves  and  more  sand  fountain-jets. 

"  Uncle  Pieter  has  heard  nothing  about  the  thief, 
then  ?"  asked  Katryne. 

"  Nothing,  only  that  all  think  he  was  a  villain." 

This  statement  of  the  opinion  of  the  public  was  satis- 
factory, but  it  caught  no  one.  This  was  discouraging. 
Uncle  Pieter  took  two  mugs  less  of  beer  this  morning. 
That  was  encouraging.  The  next  morning  he  took  a 
mug  less.  "  Tapering  off  !"  he  told  Katryne  trium- 
phantly. He  even  took  a  mug  less  the  morning  after 
this.  The  less  beer  he  took  the  louder  he  shouted, 
"  Tapering  off  !"  The  nearer  he  came  to  abstinence, 
he  acted  the  more  as  if  intoxicated.  "  Tapering  off  !" 
he  cried,  and  catching  Katryne  by  the  waist  wanted  to 
dance  with  her. 


ONE   NIGHT   AND   AFTERWARD.  105 

She  smiled.  "  To-morrow  morning  we  will,  Uncle 
Pieter." 

"  When  1  take  nothing.     Hurrah  !" 

"Anybody  drunk  in  here?"  inquired  a  neighbor, 
thrusting  an  inquisitive  head  in  at  the  door. 

"  1  will  run  any  man  into  the  canal  who  says  that  !" 
threatened  the  happy,  exultant  Pieter. 

Another  morning  came.  Katryne  had  been  looking 
forward  to  Uncle  Pieter's  entire  release  from  bondage. 
Could  he  throw  away  the  last  link  of  the  chain,  the  last 
mug  ?  The  next  morning  she  had  not  left  her  room, 
up  under  the  sharply  slanting  roof,  when  she  heard  a 
noise  out  in  the  garden,  where  Hans  Schuyler  each 
year  cultivated  cabbages  into  a  form  resembling  his 
own. 

"  A  big  dog  must  be  out  there  !"  said  Katryne.  "  He 
will  ruin  everything." 

She  went  downstairs.  Ere  she  opened  the  outer  door 
and  let  in  the  new  day  upon  the  ruined  sand-patterns  of 
yesterday,  she  saw  from  a  window  that  the  area  of  dog- 
tracks,  as  she  called  them,  like  a  steamer's  wake,  widen- 
ing when  farther  away,  narrowed  toward  the  door,  and 
there  upon  its  steps  was  stretched  out  "  the  dog,"  Uncle 
Pieter  !  In  a  drink-bewildered  state  he  had  come  some 
time  in  the  night.  She  aroused  him  ;  she  led  him  into 
the  kitchen  ;  she  placed  him  in  a  chair  ;  she  bathed  his 
forehead  ;  she  combed  his  hair.  He  was  thoroughly 
awake  soon,  and  hung  his  head  in  shame. 


106  BEHIND  MANHATTAN  GABLES. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Pieter,  have  you  been  at  Van  Arsdale's  ?" 
she  asked  reproachfully. 

This  was  the  shop  of  that  keeper  over  whose  beer-jugs 
George  Martin  had  stumbled,  a  vile  resort  that  Van 
Schenkel  slyly  patronized.  He  used  Van  Arsdale  as  a 
tool  sometimes,  and  paid  the  tool  well  for  dirty  work 
that  he  did. 

Katryne  asked  again,  "  Was  it  Van  Arsdale's  den  ? 
Oh,  I  thought  Uncle  Pieter  had  tapered  off." 

He  was  silent  a  moment.  His  shame  gave  a  new  depth 
of  color  to  his  flushed  features.  Then  he  nodded  his  head. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Pieter,  thou  art  disgracing  us  all  !"  cried 
Katryne.  "  When  Uncle  Pieter  says,  '  I  love  thee, '  does 
he  mean  it  ?  Oh,  shame  !  shame  !  Why  not  do  something 
manly  ?  I  would  fight  the  savages,  do  anything,  but — " 
She  hesitated.  There  was  a  sharpness  of  tone  to  her 
rebuke.  The  knife  cut.  He  felt  it.  He  looked  up. 
He  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Say  no  more,  Katryne.  I  know  I  deserve  it.  It  is 
a  shame  !  1  am  a  disgrace  !"  How  straight  he  now 
stood  !  He  spoke  with  energy  and  in  sorrow.  "  Yes, 
I  disgrace  everybody,  and  1  disgrace  myself,  and" — his 
voice  sank  lower  and  lower,  to  the  level  of  the  dead  in 
their  quiet  resting-place  in  the  old  graveyard  by  the 
river — "and  I  disgrace  my  dead  wife."  He  paused. 
He  began  again  :  "  But,  Kaatje,  dear,  I  will  disgrace 
thee  no  more.  Fare  thee  well  !  Wilt  thou  see  Uncle 
Pieter  again  ?  Fare  thee  well,  for  I  am  going." 


ONE   NIGHT   AND   AFTERWARD.  107 

He  pointed  somewhere  north,  she  afterward  remem- 
bered. Then,  pulling  his  old  steeple-crown  down  over 
hia  eyes,  he  passed  across  the  threshold. 

ts  Fare  thee  well  !"  she  said  mechanically,  for  she  had 
not  recovered  from  the  effect  of  the  display  of  his  intense 
feeling.  "  He  will  be  back  soon,"  she  told  herself, 
"  and  get  his  beer  or  schnapps." 

That  did  not  assure  her,  though,  and  she  soon  went 
out  to  the  stoop  and  looked  along  De  Heeren  Graft. 
There  was  Uncle  Pieter,  his  head  drooping,  slouching 
off  in  the  direction  of  the  bridge  that  led  into  De  Brug 
Straat. 

"  I  must  follow  him,"  she  said.  "  What  was  it  he 
told  me— 'Wilt  thou  see  Uncle  Pieter  again?'  And 
where  is  he  going  ?  He  pointed  north.  1  must  have 
my  hood." 

She  went  oack  for  her  hood,  and  slipping  it  on,  hur- 
ried down  De  Heeren  Graft.  She  thought  he  might 
turn  into  Yan  Arsdale's  shop.  Then  there  were  other 
pits  open  to  the  feet  of  the  heedless.  What  hope  was 
there  for  one  whose  will  might  be  good,  but  whose  flesh 
was  weak  ?  The  temptation  to  trade  in  all  kinds  of 
stimulants  was  very  great  at  New  Amsterdam.  The 
Indian  had  learned  to  love  fire-water  ;  sailors  were  often 
in  port  ;  the  home-thirst  was  sharp.  It  has  been  said 
that  "  almost  one  full  fourth  part  of  the  town  of  New 
Amsterdam  was  devoted  to  houses  for  the  sale  of  brandy, 
tobacco,  and  beer. ' '  I  want  to  stamp  that  as  an  exaggera- 


108  BEHIND    MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

tion.  Uncle  Pieter,  though,  did  not  yield  to  any  tempta- 
tion barrelled  and  bottled  up  in  Van  Arsdale's  pit.  Ka- 
tryne's  heart  beat  with  hope  when  she  saw  him  beyond 
the  pit  and  crossing  the  bridge  over  the  canal,  but  if 
hope  went  up,  courage  went  down.  Suddenly  Van 
Schenkel  stepped  out  of  Van  Arsdale's  shop  ! 

"  Satan  !"  muttered  Katryne.  She  faltered.  Should 
she  turn  back  ?  "  No  !"  she  said  resolutely,  and  moved  on. 

Van  Schenkel  was  coming  toward  her,  but  he  turned 
as  a  voice  summoned  him  back  into  the  shop,  and  Ka- 
tryne thankfully  saw  the  glitter  of  his  hateful  eyes  pass 
away.  She  reached  the  bridge  and  looked  across  it. 
Where  was  Uncle  Pieter  ?  Had  he  tumbled  into  the 
canal  ?  Its  waters  were  low  then,  and  dark  and  sluggish. 
They  did  not  look  deep  enough  to  cover  even  a  turtle. 
Where  had  Uncle  Pieter  gone  ?  Dirk  Van  Schenkel 
was  thought  by  some  to  have  diabolical  powers.  Had 
he,  this  ally  of  the  devil,  spirited  Pieter  away  ? 

Katryne  went  slowly,  thoughtfully  home.  Not  for 
long  days,  weeks,  months,  did  she  see  Uncle  Pieter  to 
know  whether  he  were  Pieter  the  sot  or  Pieter  the 
something  else,  but  in  memory  there  never  was  a  day 
when  his  form  did  not  rise  before  her,  the  head  dropped, 
a  shabby,  sorry  figure  crossing  the  bridge  that  spanned 
the  canal  and  led  into  De  Brug  Straat. 

When  she  went  home  Hans  inquired  why  she  had  been 
absent.  She  frankly  told  him.  She  did  not  omit  the 
Van  Schenkel  section  of  this  chapter. 


OXE    XIGHT    AXD    AFTERWARD.  109 

"  Pooh  !  Dirk  Yan  Schenkel  would  not  hurt  any  of 
the  maidens  of  New  Amsterdam  !"  growled  Hans.  He 
threw  up  into  the  air  above  his  fond  resting-place  on  the 
stoop  a  large  cloud  of  smoke.  "  There  !"  said  he. 
"  It  is  my  opinion  that  Pieter  was  the  thief  who  sneaked 
into  this  house,  and  it  is  a  wonder  he  did  not  carry  us 
all  out  of  it  in  our  beds."B 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IN  THE  COUNTBY  OF  THE  SAVAGES. 

A  MAN  lay  crouching  in  the  grass,  listening  carefully, 
intently,  as  if  his  great  business  in  life  always  had  been 
to  listen.  The  ground  on  which  he  crouched  was  near 
the  west  bank  of  the  North  River,  beyond  the  Palisades 
of  our  day.  A  region  that  long  occupation  and  patient 
cultivation  have  turned  into  a  garden,  he  had  found  a 
wilderness,  and  having  patiently  traversed  weary  miles 
of  it,  in  vain  looking  for  a  white  man's  home  and  avoid- 
ing  signs  of  the  red  man's,  he  was  now — he  knew  not 
where. 

He  felt  sure  of  this,  that  the  North  River  was  some- 
where at  his  right,  with  much  patience  and  great  dignity 
pursuing  its  steadfast  way  to  the  sea  ;  he  was  as  patiently 
travelling  from  the  sea.  He  was  crawling  through  the 
grass  in  a  nook  where  the  forest  trees  had  consented  to 
part,  and  enough  sunshine  had  come  down  to  coax  up  a 
fair  growth  of  emerald  in  this  open  place.  He  had  his 
senses,  even  if  he  was  going  on  all  fours  like  a  beast. 
His  great  aim  and  ambition  in  life  at  the  present  time 
was  to  get  through  the  grass  and  reach  a  clump  of  bushes 
beyond.  He  preferred  the  bushes  to  the  grass,  because 


IN   THE    COUNTRY   OF   THE    SAVAGES.  Ill 

they  would  give  some  measure  of  security,  and  because 
not  far  away  was  somebody  or  something  he  wanted 
shelter  from.  So,  drawing  himself  stealthily,  slowly 
along,  he  would  stop  awhile,  listen  intently,  and  then 
crawl  on  again,  longingly  looking  toward  the  bushes 
ahead.  He  told  himself,  "  I'm  good  as  an  Indian." 

Hark  !  What  if  that  noise  he  had  again  just  caught  over 
at  the  right  meant  that  another  person,  and  a  savage,  too, 
were  crawling  through  the  undergrowth,  having  in  mind 
this  very  white  man  as  an  object  to  be  sprung  at,  pounced 
upon,  and  put  out  of  the  way  at  once  with  a  blow  of  his 
tomahawk  !  Then  the  thought  would  come  that  it 
might  be  a  wild  beast,  for  at  times  the  step  was  not  as 
cautious  as  that  of  a  savage.  A  wild  beast  !  He,  the 
man  in  the  grass,  began  to  breathe  heavily  and  to  think 
over  the  animals  that  were  inhabitants  of  the  forest  in 
the  valley  watered  by  the  North  River.  Some  of  these 
forest  residents  had  at  times  shown  a  disposition  to  be 
friendly  and  to  cultivate  a  close  acquaintance.  There 
was  that  small  place  up  the  river,  Beverwyck  (now 
Albany),  in  the  protecting  shadow  of  Fort  Orange.  A 
pastor  of  those  homes  in  the  great  wilderness  was  the 
Rev.  Johannes  Megapolensis.  He  thus  writes  :  "  The 
year  before  I  came  here,  1641,  there  were  so  many  tur- 
keys and  deer  that  they  came  to  the  houses  and  hog- 
pens to  feed,  and  were  taken  by  the  Indians  with  so 
little  trouble  that  a  deer  was  sold  to  the  Dutch  for  a 
loaf  of  bread,  or  a  knife,  or  even  a  tobacco-pipe.' 


112  BEHIND   MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

There  were  other  creatures  of  the  woods — panthers, 
bears,  and  wolves.  This  traveller  in  the  grass  had  on 
the  island  of  Manhattan  shot  bears  and  wolves.  One 
season  he  had  gained  considerable  bounty  money  by 
wolf-shooting.  lie  had  trapped  bears.  He  had  had 
one  tussle  with  a  panther  ;  might  he  never  have  an- 
other !  Now  if  at  Beverwyck,  turkeys  and  deer  had 
swarmed  out  of  the  forest,  what  wonder  if  they  had  fled 
from  the  forest  before  the  bears,  panthers,  and  wolves, 
grown  greedier  and  more  numerous,  and  this  softly  step- 
ping creature  in  the  rear  was  not,  then,  an  innocent, 
frail  turkey,  but  a  panther,  strong  of  limb,  sure  of  spring 
at  the  desired  time,  very  hungry,  and  specially  fond  of 
blood — human  blood  ! 

The  man  in  the  grass  trembled  and  crouched  lower. 
He  held  back  his  noisy  breath.  Why  not  feign  death  ? 
He  dismissed,  however,  the  thought  that  this  was  a  beast, 
for  a  beast  is  not  likely  to  be  a  neutral,  a  do-nothing. 
It  is  one  thing  or  the  other,  vicious  and  violent,  or  tim- 
orous and  feeble  ;  and  a  wild  beast  would  have  slunk 
away  by  this  time,  or  it  would  have  made  its  merciless, 
fatal  spring.  No,  it  could  not  be  a  beast,  but  a  man. 
If  a  human  being,  was  it  white-faced  or  red-faced,  Euro- 
pean or  savage  ?  Not  a  white  probably,  for  the  whites 
were  not  fond  of  going  on  all  fours  through  the  wilder- 
ness. They  preferred  to  watch  one  another  in  civilized 
fashion,  standing  up.  The  Indian  crawling  on  hands 
and  feet  was  a  disgrace  to  all  mankind,  even  though  the 


IN  THE  COUNTRY  OF  THE  SAVAGES.        113 

first  man  in  the  grass  might  be  setting  the  fashion.  Yes, 
it  was  an  Indian  who  was  crawling  in  the  rear. 

The  bushes,  though,  were  very  near.  Two  more 
lengths  of  the  body,  and  those  bushes  would  be  reached. 
Hark  !  What,  a  crackle  !  A  twig  under  him  had 
broken,  and  it  had  betrayed  him  !  It  sounded  like  a 
gun  at  Fort  Amsterdam.  The  bushes,  though,  were 
near,  and  he  would  rush  for  them  and  would  hide  behind 
them,  and  fight,  too,  on  his  feet,  if  the  Indian  wished 
for  fighting.  Anything  in  preference  to  this  awkward, 
painful  crawling  on  the  ground,  in  constant  fear  of  an 
attack  whenever  was  heard  that  sound  of  another  move- 
ment over  at  the  right,  a  suspicious  rustling,  a  strange 
stirring,  a  moving,  steady  but  stealthy,  an  invisible 
beast,  man,  Indian — what  ? 

Suddenly  up  out  of  his  lair  sprang  a  man.  He  had 
a  gun.  He  brought  that  gun  to  his  shoulder  and  fired. 
The  report  sounded  like  that  of  a  volcano  erupting.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  smoke  from  the  discharge  must  fill  this 
forest  and  every  other  in  the  valley  of  the  North 
River. 

The  first  thought  of  the  first  man  was,  "  1  am  shot  !" 
The  second  thought,  "  Before  I  find  out  really  whether  I 
am  shot,  I  will  shoot  him."  He  rose  ;  he  brought  his 
gun  to  his  shoulder  ;  he  fired,  but  the  aim  was  hasty, 
and  did  not  drop  anybody.  It  was  one  smoke-cloud 
rolling  up  against  another  smoke-cloud,  and  who  was 
killed  ? 


114  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

As  the  CiOiid  lifted,  the  first  man  saw  that  the  other 
man  had  a  white  face.  He  was  busily  reloading. 

"  Hold  there  !"  shouted  the  first  man  in  English,  then 
repeating  it  in  Dutch. 

The  second  man  looked  up. 

"God  forgive  ine  !"  he  cried,  and  in  English. 
11  What  a  mistake  !"  He  was  now  advancing,  his  right 
hand  extended. 

"  I  thought  it  was  an  Indian  wriggling  along  ;  and 
are  you  hurt  ?"  was  the  first  man's  inquiry,  his  hand 
going  out  cordially. 

"  Not  hurt,  not  a  scratch  even.  Your  bullet  struck  a 
branch  beyond  me  somewhere." 

"  And  I  don't  believe  I  came  within  ten  feet  of  you. 
My  hand  trembled  frightfully.  I  thought  surely  it  was 
an  Indian." 

The  two  men  were  now  gripping  hands  and  then 
laughing,  stopping  to  blame  themselves  for  exciting  one 
another's  fears,  and  yet  justifying  each  other's  shooting. 

"  But  who  are  you?"  asked  the  first  man.  "  I  am 
Pieter  Van  T wilier,  from  New  Amsterdam." 

The  reply  of  the  second  man  was  hesitating.  "  I — I — 
oh,  call  me  William." 

Pieter  noticed  the  hesitation,  and  when  he  heard  the 
single  name,  "William,"  he  told  himself,  "The  man 
does  not  wish  to  be  known.  I  will  trust  him  though." 

There  was  no  other  way  than  that  of  trust. 

"  May    I    ask— may    I    ask,"   hesitatingly   inquired 


IN  THE    COUNTRY    OF  THE   SAVAGES.  115 

Pieter,  ' '  where  my  new  friend  is  going  ?  1  am  going 
to  Esopus  to  fight  the  savages." 

William's  countenance  wore  a  puzzled  look.  He 
smiled,  though  it  was  a  sad  one,  and  replied,  "  Where 
am  I  going  ?  I — I  am  sure  I  do  not  know.  I  wish  I 
did.  If  going  to  fight  the  savages,  I  don't  think  I 
should  hurt  the  savages  if  1  did  fight,  judging  by  my 
shooting  at  a  mark  this  afternoon." 

The  men  laughed  again.  The  laugh  did  them  good. 
It  is  strange  how  much  prejudice,  fear,  uncomfortable 
feeling  may  be  shaken  off  in  the  agitation  that  accom- 
panies a  laugh.  William  had  not  fancied  Pieter's  inter- 
rogations, and  inwardly  disputed  his  right  to  make  them. 
Pieter  began  to  be  suspicious  of  a  man  who  did  not  seem 
to  know  where  he  was  going  finally,  here  in  the  wilder- 
ness. If  a  man  were  on  a  journey  that  had  an  end,  or 
if  he  were  in  the  wilderness  because  hunting  or  trapping 
for  skins — otter,  beaver,  mink — it  was  all  satisfactory, 
but  this  aimless  wandering  did  give  a  strange  look  to 
one's  action.  Was  the  man  just  sane  ?  Then  William 
had  not  mentioned  the  place  from  which  he  hailed  ; 
Pieter  had  very  distinctly  quoted  New  Amsterdam  as  his 
headquarters.  Pieter  could  not  get  rid  of  his  suspicions. 
Even  that  last  hearty  laugh  had  not  shaken  off  all  of 
these.  He  now  resolved  to  watch  this  queer  unknown 
whom  he  had  so  strangely  met  in  the  wilderness. 

The  men  jogged  on  together,  but  soon  stopped.  The 
sun  was  running  low.  Up  the  green  ladders  of  the  trees 


116  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

its  golden  rays  had  climbed  slowly,  patiently,  and  now 
crowned  the  highest  rounds  in  the  treetops.  It  was  a 
warning  light  up  in  the  tall  trees,  but  not  that  alone 
brought  them  to  a  halt.  They  had  come  suddenly  upon 
North  Kiver.  The  forest  drew  back  from  the  water  as 
if  in  respectful  admiration  of  its  charms.  All  around 
the  hills  gave  a  green  setting  to  this  crystal  flashing  in 
the  last  rays  of  the  sun.  The  wind  had  been  subsiding, 
and  now,  as  if  weary,  seemed  to  have  gone  to  sleep  on 
the  bosom  of  the  glassy  stream.  From  shore  to  shore 
was  one  wide  sweep  of  crystal.  The  two  men  were 
thrown  into  a  sudden  excitement  by  this  revelation  of 
the  noble  beauty  of  a  great  river. 

"  This  is— what  is  this  ?"  asked  William  nervously. 

"  North  River. 

"  Then  praised  be  God  !  The  North  River  !  Hur- 
rah !"  cried  William,  throwing  up  his  hat. 

Pieter,  too,  was  pleased,  but  he  was  comparatively 
calm. 

"  Tes,  North  River.  1  love  it.  '  This,'  I  say  to  myself, 
1  this  river  goes  down  to  New  Amsterdam,  to  the  ships 
that  go  across  the  water.'  The  river  joins  us  to  the 
great  world  without.  If  I  want  to  get  back  to  the  fash- 
ion of  the  world,  all  that  1  need  is  a  boat.  It  may 
be  that  I  could  sail  a  log.  Truly,  1  am  glad  to  see 
it." 

"  Yea,  verily,  my  friend,  for  let  me  call  you  that," 
said  William.  "  I  must  let  out  my  joy  in  a  different 


IN  THE  COUNTRY  OF  THE  SAVAGES.       117 

fashion.  I  rejoice,  I  shout,  I  want  to  sing — yes,  hur- 
rah !"  Then  he  began  to  caper  about  merrily. 

"Was  he  sane,  this  shouting,  dancing  man  ?  Pieter 
swung  round  as  soon  as  he  could  do  it  with  politeness, 
and  looked  at  his  companion's  face.  It  was  turned  in 
the  direction  of  New  Amsterdam,  and  such  a  joy  was 
in  those  eyes  ! 

"  It  is  not  a  bad  face,"  reasoned  Pieter.  "  No  malice 
is  there.  He  acts  as  if  he  had  lost  his  head,  but  he  has 
not  lost,  I  think,  his  love  for  New  Amsterdam.  It  is  a 
goodly  face,  it  is  kind,  it  is  in  a  head  that  has  brains. 
Have  I  ever  seen  at  New  Amsterdam  this  man  with 
dark  eyes  and  dark  beard  ?  I  shall  find  him  out  sooner 
or  later." 

Pieter  was  now  speaking  aloud  :  "  The  river,  I  trow, 
not  only  makes  one  think  how  he  might  get  away  from 
the  wilderness,  but  of  the  people  that  the  river  might 
bring  to  him." 

"  How  will  he  take  that  ?"  wondered  Pieter.  "  He 
has  lost  his  heart  to  the  river,  but  it  might  bring  strange 
beings  to  him. "  He  watched  the  effect  of  his  words  on 
his  companion. 

William  smiled  eagerly. 

11  Traders,  dost  thou  mean  ?     They  are  to  my  mind." 

Pieter  asked,  "  What  would  my  friend  say  if  a  ca- 
noe of  savages  came  suddenly  round  that  point  ?  This 
is  a  good  landing-place  for  savages." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  they  have  been  here  often.     If  they 


118  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

came  now  I  should  get  behind  you.  Ha  !  ha  !  And 
come  they  may,  for  oar  guns  gave  warning  to  all  the 
world  that  \ve  were  here  !" 

The  laugh  that  echoed  by  the  riverside  did  a  good 
work  in  making  Pieter  feel  more  at  ease  with  this  strange 
companion.  They  began  to  address  one  another  as 
""William"  and  "  Pieter,"  and  to  use  freely  that  form 
of  the  pronoun  suggesting  a  better  acquaintance. 

"  I  think  this  is  undoubtedly  the  first  time,"  observed 
William,  "  that  white  men  have  laughed  in  this  place, 
Pieter,  if  I  may  so  call  thee,  friend.  Is  that  to  thy 
mind  ?" 

"  Call  me  c  Pieter.'     That  sounds  better.     Hark  !" 

They  listened  intently. 

"  What  was  it,  Pieter  ?     Anything  strange  ?" 

"  1  thought  I  heard  a  call." 

"A  war-whoop?" 

"  It  may  have  been." 

"  The  very  name  makes  me  shiver.  I  think  we  had 
better  not  camp  here,  if  that  were  thy  mind.  We  will 
just  step  back  into  the  woods  a  few  feet,  if  that  be  to 
thy  mind." 

"I  agree  to  it." 

"  Thy  mind  is  my  mind,  Pieter.  I  will  follow  thee. 
Lead  on  !" 

"  He  trusts  me,"  thought  Pieter,  affected  by  the  stran- 
ger's kindly  mood.  "  1  have  been  puzzled  to  see  him 
so  beside  himself,  a  man  who  has  not  yet  told  me  what 


IN  THE  COUNTRY  OF  THE  SAVAGES.       119 

place  he  hails  from  or  what  place  he  is  going  to.  Now 
I  cannot  go  to  New  Amsterdam,  where  the  devil  is  too 
strong  for  me,  since  the  beer-mugs  help  him  out.  This 
man,  where  does  he  go  ?  Well,  Pieter,  thou  must  go 
to  fight  the  savages." 

Pieter  Yan  Twiller  was  aiming  at  the  North  Eiver  region 
known  as  the  Esopus  (in  the  neighborhood  of  Rondout  and 
Kingston).  For  various  reasons  the  Dutch  had  occupied 
it.  There  was  choice  land  to  be  farmed.  There  were 
beaver-skins  to  be  bought  of  the  Indians.  Esopus  had 
been  shattered  by  the  Indian  tempest  of  1655,  but  it 
was  gathering  strength  again.  The  land  was  fertile. 
There  were  chances  for  trade.  Brandy  could  be 
sold,  while  beaver-skins  could  be  bought.  The  buy- 
ing was  right  ;  the  selling  was  unfortunate,  foolish, 
wicked.  In  the  spring  of  1658  the  savages,  fren- 
zied by  drink,  showed  ugly  fight.*  They  fired  the 
buildings  of  one  settler,  a  second  they  killed.  Then 
they  bore  torches  to  various  buildings.  Brandishing 
these  lurid  weapons,  their  countenances  distorted  with 
hate,  they  threatened  unless  the  farmers  ploughed  up 
their  fields  of  maize  to  fire  their  property.  Plough,  the 
farmers  did.  The  savages  threw  at  the  settlers  such  mis- 
siles as  the  epithets,  "Dutch  dogs,  "and  taunted  them  with 
the  horribly  mercantile  remark  that  "  they  could  easily 
pay  for  killing  them  by  a  few  fathoms  of  wampum." 

*  History  of  New  Netkerland,  E.  B.  O'Callaghan,  Vol.  II., 
p.  357. 


120  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

We  are  told  that  "  the  white  population  consisted  at  this 
period  of  between  sixty  and  seventy  Christians,"  and  they 
had  much  land  under  cultivation.  An  appeal  was  made 
by  them  to  Heer  Director  Stuyvesant  to  send  soldiers 
"  to  save  the  Esopus,  which,  if  well  settled,  might  sup- 
ply the  whole  of  New  Amsterdam  with  provisions." 
"  It  will  be  vain,"  ran  the  supplication,  "  to  cover  the 
well  when  the  calf  is  drowned."  Heer  Director,  accom- 
panied by  fifty  soldiers  or  more,  strode  off  to  save  this 
"  calf"  and  seasonably  shut  up  the  "  well."  He  in- 
spected the  calf  ;  he  looked  into  the  well ;  he  gathered 
the  savages  and  talked  straight  at  them.  They  talked 
back. 

"  You  Swannekins,"  they  told  him,  "  have  sold  our 
children  the  boisson.  It  is  you  who  have  given  them 
brandy,"  and  added  that  the  Dutch  had  made  them 
drunk,  and  went  on  to  say  they  could  not  control  their 
young  men.  Wooden  Leg  was  ready  for  them.  He 
dared  them  to  fight. 

That  must  have  been  a  dramatic  scene.  There  was 
the  sturdy  Stuyvesant,  his  eyes  flashing,  his  strong  fea- 
tures working,  his  wooden  leg  planted  stubbornly.  Over 
against  him  were  the  Indians,  frowning  and  scowling, 
and  growling  that  while  "  we  know  no  malice,  neither 
are  we  inclined  to  fight,  but  we  cannot  control  our 
young  men." 

Up  sprang  Wooden  Leg.  He  thundered,  "  If  any  of 
your  young  savages  desire  to  fight,  let  them  now  step 


IN  THE  COUNTRY  OF  THE  SAVAGES.       121 

forth.  I  will  place  man  against  man.  Nay,  I  will  place 
twenty  against  thirty  or  forty  of  your  hot-heads.  Now, 
then,  is  your  time  !" 

Nobody  stepped  forth.  There  was  no  fighting. 
"Wooden  Leg's  challenge  cowed  his  opponents.  Though 
they  could  not  give  up  the  Indian  who  had  committed 
murder,  as  he  belonged,  they  said,  to  another  nation 
and  had  gone  off,  yet  the  savages  agreed  to  make  amends 
for  damages  done,  and  sell  land  for  another  village, 
which  Stuyvesant  advised  the  settlers  to  establish. 

The  latter  went  to  work.  Digging,  wood-chopping, 
and  palisading  were  begun.  The  village  was  to  measure 
two  hundred  and  ten  yards  in  circumference.  While  at 
work  on  the  fortifications  a  party  of  savages  approached. 
They  requested  the  Grand  Sachem  to  take  as  a  present 
the  land  he  was  occupying.  The  gift,  they  assured  him, 
was  "  to  grease  his  feet,  as  he  had  undertaken  so  long 
and  painful  a  journey  to  visit  them."  They  asserted 
that  they  bore  no  malice  toward  the  Dutch  ;  it  had  been 
thrown  away,  and  nobody  would  hurt  a  Dutchman. 
The  Dutch  might  have  felt  that  they  were  rather  hasty 
in  occupying  the  land  now  so  magnanimously  tendered, 
and  that  the  proffer  was  not  only  a  gift,  but  a  reproof. 
The  Dutch  were  as  friendly  as  the  Indians.  They  made 
protestations  of  friendship,  and  what  Dutchman  would 
hurt  an  Indian  ?  However,  they  went  forward  and  built 
their  fortified  village,  and  when  Heer  Director  started  for 
New  Amsterdam,  he  did  not  leave  behind  him  a  little 


122  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

town  shielded  just  by  savage  promises,  but  twenty-four 
stalwart  white  soldiers  were  doing  garrison  duty  at  the 
Esopus.  The  "  calf"  Was  protected,  and  the  "  well" 
shut  up.  Ah,  if  he  could  have  sealed  up  the  brandy- 
bottles  ! 

The  colonists  in  the  Esopus  met  with  varying  for- 
tunes. The  savages  made  an  uneasy  element  in  their 
neighborhood,  and  one  of  danger.  In  the  fall  of  1658 
the  savages  wanted  some  presents.  ' '  Greasing' '  seems  to 
have  been  a  process  employed  on  both  sides.  The  savages 
had  previously  "greased  the  feet"  of  Pieter  Stuyvesant, 
after  "  a  long  and  painful  journey  to  visit  them."  The 
settlers,  though,  are  reported  to  have  had  in  the  autumn 
nothing  with  which  u  to  grease  the  Indians'  breasts. 
The  meeting  was  a  dry  one."  It  was  difficult  to  oil  the 
machinery  in  this  land  of  the  Esopus  and  keep  it 
smoothly  running.  In  1659  "  brandy"  was  the  occasion 
of  a  terrible  collision  between  the  savages  and  the  Dutch. 
The  savages  were  frenzied  by  the  bottle  as  they  were 
carousing  outside  the  fort.  Some  of  the  Dutch  had  been 
alarmed  by  the  bacchanalian  outcries.  They  went  out 
and  needlessly,  cruelly,  fired  upon  the  wretches  just  then 
"  huddled  in  sleep."  War  followed— a  war  of  the  torch 
and  the  tomahawk.  Stuyvesant  came  to  the  help  of  the 
settlers,  but  they  had  already  beaten  off  the  savages 
storming  their  works.  Not,  though,  till  July,  1660,  was 
peace  made  and  proclaimed.  Prior  to  the  spring  of  1663 
there  were,  therefore,  about  three  years  of  peace  in  that 


IN  THE   COUNTRY   OF  THE   SAVAGES.  123 

fertile  Esopus-land.  The  settlers  increased  in  number. 
Pieter  Stuyvesant  obeying  orders  from  Holland,  con- 
ferred, in  1661,  a  charter  on  the  settlers,  "  erecting  the 
locality  into  a  village."  The  place  thus  raised  up  to 
honor  received  the  name  Wiltwyck.  The  name  was  an 
olive-branch,  given  because  the  land  was  "  a  free  gift" 
from  the  savages.  It  was  a  free-will  vilfage  (wyck 
meaning  village)  in  a  beautiful  land.  Would  that  Stuy- 
vesant's  pleasant  conceit  had  been  left  peaceably  to  put 
forth  like  a  plant  blossoms  of  beauty  and  fruits  of  comfort ! 
Into  the  year  1663  the  plant  did  thrive  and  increase.  A 
new  settlement  was  laid  out  for  the  surplus  population 
of  this  free-will  village.  Then  came  trouble.  The  sav- 
ages were  restless.  They  jealously  feared  this  growth 
and  a  "  new  fort."  For  the  land  on  which  it  was  ex- 
pected to  stand,  they  had  not  been  paid.  Old  injuries 
when  recalled  stung  them  like  thorns.  And  the  his- 
torian O'Callaghan  significantly  says  :  "  Brandy  became 
more  common  than  ever  in  the  country."  This  was  like 
throwing  a  firebrand  amid  barrels  of  gunpowder. 

The  settlers  were  alarmed.  There  was  the  old  fear  of 
the  "  calf"  getting  into  the  "  well."  The  relations  be- 
tween the  savage  and  the  Dutchman  were  strained.  This 
was  known  at  New  Amsterdam,  and  it  was  to  do  his  little 
toward  helping  the  Dutch  interests  past  this  strain  that 
Pieter  Yan  T  wilier  had  come  into  the  wilderness.  He 
knew  also  it  would  help  him  overcome  his  love  for  liquor 
because  separating  him  from  it.  He  was  resolved  that  the 


124  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

savage  in  his  breast  badly  wanting  brandy  should  go 
without  it.  After  a  while  no  savage  might  be  there. 

Pieter  and  his  present  companion  began  their  night- 
camp  just  inside  the  forest-line  and  within  a  few  feet 
of  the  river.  Pieter  was  much  of  a  woodsman.  Of 
pine  boughs  he  quickly  made  a  hut  for  shelter,  and  he 
set  William  to  work  gathering  hemlock  tips  for  a  bed. 
After  a  simple  meal  they  lay  down  to  rest.  Pieter 
turned  his  face  toward  the  pine  roof,  and  spent  a  few 
minutes  in  quiet  thought  ere  launching  his  boat  on  the 
River  of  Slumber : 

"  I  have  much  feeling  for  this  brother  of  mine  under 
these  pine  boughs.  He  may  be  a  fugitive  from  some 
place,  and  am  I  not  fleeing  from  the  temptations  of 
drink  ?  I  am  a  fugitive  like  my  brother,  then.  Has 
he  not  told  me  he  had  no  family  ?  The  body  of  my 
dear  wife  is  sleeping  with  the  dead  near  Fort  Amster- 
dam. He  and  I  are  without  a  home.  We  are  pilgrims 
and  sojourners.  I  feel  for  thee,  dear  brother  at  my 
side,  though  I  do  not  say  it,  and  I  trust  thee." 

It  was  good  to  be  in  this  tavern  of  pine  boughs,  side 
by  side  with  one  that  Pieter  Van  Twiller  could  trust. 
It  gave  a  sense  of  security  to  this  bed  of  hemlock  tips. 
Pieter  Yan  Twiller  drifted  off  into  a  calm  and  restful 
sleep.  Not  an  hour  had  passed  ere  an  Indian  canoe  was 
paddled  up  to  the  open,  grassy  nook  in  the  river- 
bank,  and  several  savages  stepped  out  quietly  and 
lay  down  on  the  edge  of  the  forest  One  of  these 


IN"  THE  COUNTRY  OF  THE  SAVAGES.       125 

soon  nudged  his  neighbor,  and  in  his  aboriginal  tongue 
whispered, 

"  Hark  !  I  hear  a  sound  like  the  wind  murmuring  in 
the  tree-tops." 

Silence  for  a  moment. 

"  I  hear  a  sound  like  the  water  running  over  the 
rocks,"  replied  the  neighbor. 

Another  pause. 

"  1  hear  somebody  snoring,"  whispered  a  third 
savage. 

All  three  sprang  upon  their  feet  at  once. 


CHAPTEK  X. 

THE   FOUT   AND    THE    CHURCH. 

"  AND  where  is  Uncle  Robert  ?"  wondered  Harold 
Wharton. 

He  found  footprints  of  his  uncle,  but  not  the  uncle. 
The  landlord  at  the  tavern  had  heard  of  such  a  person, 
but  shook  his  head  when  Harold  wished  to  know  of  the 
uncle's  present  whereabouts.  In  the  morning  he  hoped 
to  find  him  by  evening,  and  at  night  he  hoped  to  dis- 
cover him  the  next  day,  but  neither  morning  nor  even- 
ing revealed  him.  A  bridge  built  of  nothing  but  hopes 
never  carries  one  across  the  river.  If  Harold  had  not 
been  endowed  with  an  adventurer's  birthright,  he  would 
have  been  very  discontented  ;  but  he  had  that  birthright, 
the  restless  desire  to  hunt  up  something  new,  and  this 
strange  seaport  town,  so  unlike  the  few  seaport  towns  he 
had  ever  seen,  was  a  novelty,  giving  this  desire  for  dis- 
coveries frequent  exercise.  He  oftenest  went  to  one  of 
two  places,  De  Heeren  Graft,  with  its  canal  and  its  pos- 
sible chances  of  seeing  a  certain  fair  maiden,  and  then 
he  haunted  the  water-front,  with  its  public  wharf,  its 
De  Paerl  Straat,  its  outlook  on  the  vessels  swayed  by 
the  tide  as  they  lay  at  anchor.  Sometimes  he  strayed 
beyond  the  wall  to  the  spot  where  a  venturous  ferryboat 


THE  FOKT  AKD  THE  CHURCH.  12? 

dared  all  the  perils  of  East  River,  and  carried  passengers 
to  little  Breuckelen.  We  Lave  the  name  of  one  ferry- 
man in  those  early  days,  Cornelis  Dircksen.  He  was  a 
farmer  ordinarily,  but  kept  a  horn  in  a  state  of  suspen- 
sion from  a  tree.  Let  any  traveller  come  up  and  give  a 
blast  on  that  horn,  and  the  farmer  would  appear  as  ferry- 
man, and  promptly  ferry  the  wayfarer  to  Breuckelen 
hamlet.  Harold  would  sometimes  visit  this  place,  which 
later  years  have  known  as  Peck  Slip,  but  he  never  saw 
any  Uncle  Robert  ferried  to  Breuckelen. 

He  was  often  at  the  wall  with  its  two  gates,*  but  among 
those  making  that  entrance  or  exit  was  no  Uncle  Robert. 
The  keeper  of  the  tavern  had  told  Harold  about  the 
building  of  this  wall.  It  had  a  predecessor,  erected  in 
1644.  The  savages  were  troublesome,  ready  to  steal  a 
cow  or  sheep  whenever  they  had  a  chance,  and  also 
assault  the  owners.  Heer  Director  Kieft  was  then  in 
power,  and  he  ordered  "  a  good  solid  fence"  to  be 
erected  across  Manhattan  Island.  For  nine  years  it  did 
duty  as  the  northern  limit  of  a  "  fifteen-acre  sheep  pas- 
ture," and  here  all  kinds  of  domestic  animals  were  safely 
pastured,  though  without  Indians  might  covet  and  bears 
roll  their  greedy  eyes. 

Time's  wheel,  that  never  yet  stopped  for  peasant  or 
king,  continued  to  roll  about.  It  was  in  the  year  1653, 
one  March  day,  and  a  chilly,  sputtering  day  I  can  im- 
agine it  to  have  been,  when  very  exciting  news  came  to 
*  Land  poort  and  water  poort. 


128  BEHIND  MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

New  Amsterdam.  It  set  people  into  a  nervous  flutter 
everywhere — a  flutter  like  that  of  the  leaves  in  the  forest 
when  the  rough  wind  gets  among  them.  Down  in  the 
drinking-shops,  and  along  the  canal  in  De  Heeren  Graft, 
also  in  De  Paerl  Straat,  De  Brug  Straat,  De  Bever 
Graft,  in  all  the  ways  and  lanes,  and  up  in  the  proud 
fort,  and  in  the  kitchens  where  humble  housewives  by 
their  open  fireplaces  thought  themselves  safe  beyond 
question,  there  was  a  trepidation  indeed.  Even  under 
the  doublet  of  sturdy  Heer  Director  Stuyvesant  there 
was  an  unusual  commotion.  The  heart  that  beat  there 
in  its  sturdy  fortress  went  faster  than  ever.  The  New 
Englanders — the  New  Englanders  were  coming  !  These 
uneasy,  enterprising  beings,  who  thought  their  rights  of 
territory  lapped  over  the  soil  of  New  Amsterdam,  had 
been  shaking  their  heads  and  muttering  threats  for  some 
time,  and  were  now  actually  coming.  That  was  the 
story.  The  New  Amsterdam  Council  had  a  famous 
meeting  on  account  of  the  exciting  news.  It  was  a  very 
long  meeting.  It  sat  in  profound  deliberation,  hour  after 
hour.  It  did  not  propose  to  let  New  England's  territory 
lap  one  single  inch  over  New  Amsterdam  soil.  It  voted 
that  the  citizens,  some  time,  must  go  on  duty  as  night- 
watch  ;  that  the  old  fort  must  be  repaired,  and  among 
other  things  resolved  "  to  enclose  the  city  with  breast- 
works and  palisades."  The  fort  could  not  hold  all  the 
people  if  an  invasion  forced  them  out  of  their  homes 
and  they  tried  to  crowd  behind  those  historic  walls,  but 


THE   FORT   AND   THE   CHURCH.  129 

behind  a  wall  of  palisades  going  across  the  island,  they 
would  be  sufficiently  safe.  Such  an  invincible  wall  ! 
New  England's  warriors  might  come  in  long  columns 
and  rave  and  rage,  mutter  and  sputter,  growl  and  howl, 
but  just  the  Director's  wooden  leg,  vigorously  shaken  at 
them,  would  keep  them  at  a  distance,  provided  it  was 
shaken  behind  good,  stout  palisades.  The  new  wall  was 
set  up  near  the  line  of  the  old  fence  bounding  the  sheep 
pasture.  One  estimate  gives  a  length  of  three  thousand 
feet  of  wall  that  was  finally  built,  stretching  from  river 
to  river. 

New  Amsterdam's  labor*  were  heroic.  Every  able- 
bodied  pair  of  hands  went  to  the  spade  or  the  axe. 
Palisades  were  erected  twelve  feet  high,  and  measuring 
a  foot  and  a  half  round  ;  and  to  impale,  if  possible,  those 
nimbly  climbing  New  Englanders,  each  palisade  was 
pointed.  To  assist  the  palisades,  a  breastwork  was  piled 
up  four  feet  high,  and  the  New  Englander  that  escaped 
impaling  would  not  escape  a  Dutch  sentinel  on  the  breast- 
work. To  add  to  all  these  terrors,  to  make  as  deep  and 
awful  an  impress  as  possible  upon  the  New  England 
imagination,  was  a  ditch,  three  feet  deep  and  two  wide. 
Its  cold,  dirty  waters  would  surely  send  a  fatal  chill 
through  any  assailant's  breast  even  before  he  got  to  their 
slimy  embrace.  New  Amsterdam  dug  and  dug  and 
dug,  and  the  sound  of  the  axe  was  heard  in  the  woods, 
while  the  spade  went  thud  !  thud  !  thud  !  New  Am- 
sterdam's wall,  any  more  than  Troy's,  was  not  to  be 


130  BEHIND   MANHATTAN  GABLES. 

built  in  a  day.  The  work  was  interrupted.  It  took  a 
serious  scare,  in  1654,  to  complete  it. 

To  man  this  long-drawn-oat  fortification,  it  was  re- 
solved to  enlist  some  sixty  or  seventy  men,  "  in  silence 
and  without  beat  of  drum,"  and  they  would  garrison  the 
stout  twelve-foot  wall. 

The  fear  and  the  nutter  in  the  kitchens  and  shops  and 
council  chamber  must  have  sunk  all  away,  like  waves  on 
the  shore,  when  New  Amsterdam  saw  its  courageous 
governor  proudly  contemplating  those  palisades,  and  the 
sturdy  warriors  distributed  along  the  stretching  breast- 
work. That  might  not  be  the  only  demonstration. 
There  was  an  open  way  one  hundred  feet  broad,  on  the 
city  side  of  the  wall,  set  apart  for  the  parade  of  the  little 
city's  troops.  This  grand  display  of  New  Amsterdam's 
warriors  made  an  imposing  addition  to  the  long  walls 
fortifying  the  metropolis  of  New  Netherland.  How- 
ever, New  Amsterdam  did  not  rely  alone  on  twelve-foot 
palisades,  ditch  and  breastwork,  troops  and  guarded  gates. 
Dominie  Megapolensis  had  a  serious  talk  with  Heer 
Director  Stuyvesant.  It  resulted  in  the  appointing  of 
April  9th,  that  same  exciting  spring  of  1653,  as  a  day 
of  fasting  and  prayer.  Happy  is  the  town  that  has  a 
good  breastwork  of  prayer  behind  all  its  defences  !  And 
New  Amsterdam  built  this  inner  wall.  It  kept  other 
days  of  fasting  and  prayer. 

Another  fortification,  and,  like  the  palisades,  interest- 
ing Harold,  was  Fort  Amsterdam.  It  was  engineer 


THE  FORT  AND  THE   CHURCH.  131 

Kryn  Frederick  who  planned  this  fort,  begun  about  the 
year  1626.  The  row  of  houses  now  fronting  Bowling 
Green,  it  is  thought,  would  about  give  the  northern 
wall  of  that  ancient  fortress.  It  could  not  have  been 
anything  very  serious,  for  it  is  described  as  "  a  block- 
house with  red  cedar  palisades,  called  by  courtesy  '  the 
fort.'  "*  There  were  about  thirty  rude  structures, 
whose  inmates  pathetically  looked  to  "  the  blockhouse" 
for  protection,  and  it  was  everything  to  them.  It  was 
called,  as  already  said,  by  the  name  of  a  "fort,"  and 
the  name  of  a  thing,  especially  when  you  do  not  see 
the  thing,  adds  very  much  to  its  reputation.  While 
that  structure  might  do  as  a  beginning,  it  could  not  be 
thought  of  sufficient  dignity  or  strength  to  protect  the 
future  New  Amsterdam. 

In  1635  1  find  something  pretentious  existing  as  Fort 
Amsterdam.  It  was  begun  by  Van  Twiller,  New  Am- 
sterdam's second  director,  and  after  some  delay  com- 
pleted by  him,  and  is  estimated  to  have  been  about  three 
hundred  feet  in  length  and  about  a  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  in  breadth.  Two  years  passed  before  Van  Twiller's 
work  was  done.  Its  four  sides  were  only  banks  of  earth, 
but  there  were  bastions  of  stone  and  sleepy  sentinels  sol- 
emnly stalking  around.  It  must  have  seemed  very  for- 
midable. The  soldiers  had  barracks  within  the  walls, 
the  Heer  Director  or  Governor,  at  that  time  had  a  house 

*  Story  of  New  York,  E.  G.  Brooks,  p.  31. 


132  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"   GABLES. 

there,  and  there  were  also  various  public  headquarters  in 
the  fort. 

Some  amusing  stories  were  told  about  New  Amster- 
dam's fortifications.  One  April  day,  in  1633,  there  came 
with  the  spring  wind  an  English  ship.  There  was  a  lengthy 
altercation  between  Van  Twiller  and  this  English  ship 
claiming  the  right  to  go  up  the  river  and  trade  with  the 
natives  for  furs.  Were  not  these  the  dominions  of  the 
King  of  England  ?  Both  New  England  and  Old  Eng- 
land said  so.  Van  Twiller  stubbornly  said  no  ;  these 
dominions  belonged  to  the  Prince  of  Orange,  Holland's 
ruler.  Finally  Van  Twiller  ordered  the  crew  ashore,  also 
that  the  colors  of  the  Prince  of  Orange  be  hoisted  at  the 
fort,  and  three  guns  be  fired  in  honor  of  the  Dutch 
ruler.  Boom  !  boom  !  boom  !  went  the  spunky  Dutch 
guns.  English  guns  were  as  spunky,  and  the  ship 
barked  three  times  in  honor  of  the  King  of  England, 
while  the  English  colors  saucily  fluttered  at  the  mast- 
head. Instead  of  coming  ashore,  the  English  crew 
weighed  anchor,  and  up  the  river  to  trade,  stately  and 
defiant,  went  the  ship.  Van  Twiller  was  enraged. 
His  face  must  have  seemed  a  cauldron  boiling  over.  All 
who  were  on  duty  in  the  fort  he  massed  before  his  door. 
He  was  going  to  challenge  their  loyalty  to  Holland.  He 
would  not  submit  to  such  English  defiance  of  rightful 
authority,  and  a  singular  but  highly  popular  way  he 
took  to  invite  and  arouse  Dutch  sentiment.  He  gave 
orders  that  a  barrel  of  wine  should  be  tapped.  Then, 


THE   FOKT   AND   THE   CHURCH.  133 

emptying  a  brimming  goblet,  he  shouted,  "  Those  who 
love  the  Prince  of  Orange  and  me  emulate  me  in  this, 
and  assist  me  in  repelling  the  violence  committed  by 
that  Englishman  !"  What  enthusiasm  there  was  in 
showing  loyalty  to  ruling  Dutchmen  !  Bumper  after 
bumper  went  readily  down.  The  drinking  was  con- 
tinued, and  the  loyal  fit  lasted  till  the  cask  was  empty. 
Up  with  the  colors  of  Holland  !  But  when  it  was  in 
order  to  move  upon  the  colors  of  England,  the  people  to 
make  the  attack  were  wanting.  Patriotism  that  was  only 
a  gluttonous  drinking  was  as  popular  then  as  sometimes 
to-day.  When  the  wine-cask  lies  empty,  such  patriots 
scatter.  However,  there  was  at  last  a  rally  of  Dutch 
sentiment  and  Dutch  soldiers  and  sailors.  The  English 
ship  was  followed,  reached  at  Fort  Orange  or  Albany, 
and  sent  sulking  down  the  river  and  out  to  sea. 

When  Harold  Wharton  saw  the  fort,  it  was  not  the 
structure  figuring  in  the  above  episode,  but  the  later 
one  of  this  story,  with  walls  of  earth  higher  than  a 
man's  head  and  bastions  of  stone,  all  making  a  formid- 
able show  on  paper,  and  presenting  a  warlike  front  to 
any  arrival  by  sea.  It  now  contained  a  building  that 
Harold  started  out  to  visit  his  first  Sunday  morning  in 
New  Amsterdam,  the  church  of  St.  Nikolaas.  The  first 
building  used  for  religious  purposes  was  not  protected 
by  any  fort  wall.  Some  time,  when  the  reader  may  be 
walking  along  South  William  Street,  on  the  north  side, 
if  he  will  halt  about  half-way  between  Broad  and  Wil- 


134  BEHIND  MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

liam  streets,  he  will  be  very  near,  if  not  at  the  site  of 
great  New  York's  first  place  of  worship.  South 
William  Street  was  once  Mill  Street,  or  in  Dutch,  Molen 
Straat,  and  in  a  mill  erected  there  were  conducted  the 
first  religious  services  of  New  Amsterdam.  A  fort, 
storage-houses  for  the  Dutch  West  India  Company  that 
fathered  this  settlement  on  Manhattan  Island,  and  a  mill, 
led  off  in  the  column  of  buildings  making  their  appear- 
ance on  the  shores  fronting  the  wide,  restless  waters  of 
the  bay  that  had  surprised  and  delighted  the  English 
Henry  Hudson. 

That  old  mill  !  It  must  have  been  a  curiosity.  Its 
power  came  not  from  a  favorite  Dutch  source,  the  wind, 
but  a  slowly  plodding  horse.  The  stone  of  the  mill  was 
a  big  one,  and  in  a  track  paved  with  bricks  it  was  forced 
to  turn  over  and  over.  There  was  a  lengthy  axle  at- 
tached to  a  perpendicular  pole.  To  one  axle-end  a 
patiently  minded  horse  was  tied,  and  then  kept  in  mo- 
tion. Round  and  round  he  stupidly  turned,  and  the 
stone  rolled  on  as  patiently,  grinding  as  it  went. 

This  mill  had  a  second  story.  It  was  not  easy  to  find 
a  place  where  the  people  could  meet.  On  Sunday,  why 
not  hold  religious  services  there  in  the  mill  loft  ?  So 
they  met  from  New  Amsterdam's  homes.  They  had  no 
pastor,  but  two  had  been  commissioned,  each  as  a  con- 
soler of  the  sick,  kranken  bezoeker,  Sebastian  Jansen 
Krol  and  Jan  Huyck,  and  they  gave  such  spiritual  com- 
fort as  they  could.  In  the  Bible  they  had  a  ceaseless 


THE   FORT   AND   THE   CHURCH.  135 

banquet  for  the  hungry,  a  fountain  for  the  thirsty,  and 
weapons  for  life's  daily  war  in  the  new  country.  Think 
of  the  days  when,  in  fear  of  savages,  the  little  congrega- 
tion shrank  close  to  one  another  and  God.  The  mill 
loft  was  a  bit  of  heaven  to  troubled  souls. 

In  1628  the  first  minister  of  New  Amsterdam,  Dominie 
Jonas  Michaelius,  came  to  the  dusty  loft  and  organized 
his  work  as  a  minister  of  the  Church  of  Holland.  The 
little  stream  from  Europe  thus  coming  to  the  surface  of 
New  Netherland  life  has  widened  into  a  great  current 
of  blessing  to  New  York  and  America,  now  known  as 
the  Reformed  Church  in  America. 

Let  us  stay  back,  though,  in  those  early  days.  To  the 
mill  loft  succeeded  a  humble  church  on  Do  Paerl  Straat. 
Ca-ptain  De  Vries,  famous  in  N"ew  Amsterdam,  one  day 
criticised  the  building  on  De  Paerl  Straat  as  "  a  mean 
barn."  Words  spoken  maybe  only  air,  and  it  costs  us 
nothing  to  say  them,  but  they  may  cost  us  something 
when  others  remember  them.  The  above  epithet,  "  a 
mean  barn,"  was  part  of  a  conversation  between  Captain 
De  Vries  and  Heer  Director  Kieft,  New  Amsterdam's 
third  governor.  How  much  would  Captain  De  Vries 
give  toward  a  better  building,  asked  Heer  Director 
Kieft.  That  was  a  quick  turn  of  the  screw  on  the  cap- 
tain. One  hundred  guilder,  provided  Heer  Director 
would  give  another,  promptly  replied  Captain  De  Vries, 
thinking,  maybe,  ho  was  giving  a  turn  on  the  screw  that 
was  still  harder  for  his  challenger.  The  challenge  was 


136  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

accepted.  How,  though,  get  the  rest  of  the  money  for 
the  new  church  ?  Heer  Director  Kieft  went  busily  to 
thinking,  knowing  something  could  come  from  the  public 
chest  also.  An  opportunity  in  private  arrived  soon.  A  wed- 
ding was  coming  off  at  the  parsonage.  Dominie  Bogar- 
dus'  stepdaughter  was  the  blushing  bride,  and  Dr.  Hans 
Kierstede  the  fortunate  bridegroom.  Many  of  the  first 
people  of  the  colony  were  sure  to  be  there,  from  the 
homes  amid  the  cabbage-gardens  of  Pavonia,  or  those 
amid  the  sleepy  poppies  of  Staten  Island,  and  from  other 
choice  spots.  The  marriage  was  duly  celebrated.  Con- 
gratulatory bumpers  followed.  Four  or  five  drinking 
rounds  were  set  in  operation,  and  every  one  doubtless 
went  its  full  course.  Then  the  company  being  in  a  both 
merry  and  generous  mood,  Heer  Director  Kieft  pulled 
out  his  subscription  paper,  liberally  headed  with  his  and 
Captain  Tries'  subscriptions,  and  on  the  spot  invited 
pledges  !  They  were  made,  and  they  were  of  a  good  size, 
corresponding  with  the  bumpers  that  had  been  drunk. 
The  next  day,  the  pledgers  being  now  sober,  thought  of 
what  they  had  done  at  the  exciting  marriage  feast.  Several 
were  in  great  alarm.  They  went  to  Kieft  and  strove  to 
change  the  size  of  their  pledges.  Heer  Director,  though, 
had  great  respect  for  the  doings  at  that  marriage,  and 
would  not  consent  to  any  change.  The  pledges  must 
stand,  and  most  of  the  promises  were  fulfilled.  The 
church  was  finally  built.  It  was  of  stone.  It  had  a 
bell  tower,  almost  detached  from  the  church,  and  might 


THE   FORT  AND   THE   CHURCH.  137 

have  been  called  the  campanile  of  New  Amsterdam. 
The  church  was  of  good  size,  seventy-two  feet  long  and 
fift}T-t\vo  feet  wide,  and  sixteen  feet  "  over  the  ground," 
or  high,  in  a  word.  This  jewel  could  find  only  one 
place  worthy  to  be  its  casket — the  fort  itself.  It  was 
built  near  the  eastern  wall,  south  of  the  governor's 
house,  another  but  lesser  jewel.  The  door  of  the 
church  was  toward  the  west.  The  sun  rising  above 
Breuckelen  saluted  the  eastern  windows,  while  the  sun- 
sets that  flamed  above  Pavonia  flashed  their  farewell  rays 
through  the  western.  Where  Bridge  and  Whitehall 
streets  now  make  their  northwest  angle,  it  is  thought 
the  stone  church  stood.  Year  after  year  it  over- 
looked the  ramparts  around  it.  To  storm-assailed  souls 
that  knew  Martin  Luther's  hymn  of  a  previous  century, 
"  Ein'  feste  Burg  ist  unser  Gott,"  it  must  have  been  a 
pleasant  sight,  this  church  within  the  fort,  and  the  soul 
could  echo  the  exultation  of  that  hymn,  "A  mighty 
fortress  is  our  God." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A    SERVICE    AT   THE    CHURCH. 

"HARK  !"  said  Harold  Wharton. 

A  bell  was  cheerily  ringing.  It  was  the  bell  of  the 
Church  of  St.  Nikolaas.  It  was  a  busy  bell.  On  week 
days  it  did  all  the  bell  business  of  New  Amsterdam. 
Was  there  any  official  event  to  be  noticed  ?  Away  went 
the  bell.  Did  a  court  sit  ?  In  a  dignified  way  the 
notes  of  the  bell  marched  out  sonorous  and  stately. 
"Was  there  a  wedding  ?  Then  the  bell  must  ring,  and  it 
would  have  been  justified  if  it  had  gone  crazy,  turning 
over  and  over  and  over.  What  was  a  bell-rope  for,  save 
to  be  pulled  according  to  the  mood  of  the  occasion  ? 
Was  there  a  funeral  ?  Slow  and  sorrowful  was  the  pace 
of  the  bell,  tolling,  tolling,  and  solemnly  it  announced 
the  fact  more  important  than  birth,  that  somebody  was 
dead. 

The  mood  was  cheerful  now.  Ding  !  ding  !  ding  ! 
quickly  rang  the  bell  that  morning  of  the  Lord's  day. 
Its  sweet  echoes  stole  over  the  waters,  and  died  in  the 
golden  depths  of  the  buttercups  in  the  beautiful  green 
fields  of  Breuckelen.  Some  of  these  tuneful  echoes 
stayed  on  Manhattan  Island,  and  went  off  into  the  emer- 
ald groves  to  mingle  with  the  drowsy  murmurs  of  the 


A   SERVICE  AT  THE   CHURCH.  139 

wind  and  sleep  with  it  in  soft  nests  of  the  fir  and  pine. 
New  Amsterdam  obeyed  the  bell  ringing  at  service-time 
and  moved  toward  the  fort.  The  sellout,  or  sheriff,  had 
bustled  through  the  streets  before  the  congregation 
came.  No  light-minded  negro  or  frowning  savage  must 
indulge  in  any  game  during  service  hours.  The  schout 
doubtless  saw  to  it  that  no  drinking-places  were  open, 
for  the  resolute  Stuyvesant  allowed  publicans  to  sell 
liquor  on  Sunday  only  at  specified  hours,  and  no  dram 
could  be  bought  after  nine  at  night.  Happy  town  if  the 
restriction  could  have  been  extended  from  Sunday  morn- 
ing to  another  Sunday  morning  ! 

Harold  Wharton  was  among  those  that  went  to  church. 
He  gained  the  fort  and  passed  the  sentinel  wearing  a 
steeple-crowned  hat,  heavy  blouse,  and  capacious  breeches, 
carrying  on  his  shoulder  a  threatening  match-lock.  Har- 
old modestly  sat  near  the  door,  and  he  had  an  opportu- 
nity to  watch  the  people  coming  in.  "Who  noticed  this 
young  fellow,  proudly  carrying  his  head,  his  flashing 
blue  eyes  making  sharp  inspection,  his  brown  locks  fall- 
ing in  a  careless  wealth  over  a  fair,  high  forehead  ?  A 
few  saw  him,  and  the  second  look  was  a  curious  stare  ; 
but  the  greater  number  went  on  without  a  turn  of  the 
head,  as  if  their  greatest  concern,  like  that  of  vessels 
steering  straight  for  moorings  off  the  water  gate,  was 
to  make  harbor  in  their  respective  pews  soon  as  possible. 

But  what  if  we  all  make  harbor  in  the  church  within 
the  fort  ?  If  we  would  appreciate  fully  the  great  work 


140  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

done  in  America  by  the  children  of  Holland,  we  must 
notice  especially  their  church-going  habits.  This  inter- 
est in  the  house  of  God  entered  like  a  strong  beam  into 
the  whole  fabric  of  their  life,  supporting  the  best  habits, 
giving  their  good  work  stability.  In  thought,  in  sym- 
pathy, reverently,  let  us  attend  a  Sunday  service  in  the 
church  of  St.  Nikolaas. 

We  enter  the  fort.  We  step  within  the  church  of 
stone.  We  take  a  seat  anywhere  and  look  about  us  as 
the  people  are  coming  in.  It  is  the  eye  that  is  first  im- 
pressed ;  and  what  a  well-dressed  congregation  this  is  ! 
Thrift  is  a  Dutch  quality,  and  it  is  evident  to-day.  One 
might  not  think  that  the  plain  structures  of  New  Amster- 
dam held  so  much  jewelry,  such  brilliant  dresses  of  silk. 

I  find  it  on  record  that  Dutch  colonial  dames  both 
"  frizzed  and  powdered  their  hair,"  wore,  too,  ''  a  close- 
fitting  cap  of  muslin  or  calico,"  and  above  all  came 
"  hoods  of  silk  or  taffeta. "  I  can  see  the  latter  in  church 
rising  like  sunrise  clouds  above  snowy  collars  without  a 
stain  on  their  broad  surfaces.  Then  there  are  matrons 
and  maidens  who  wear  at  the  girdle  rich  service-books  in 
costly  binding,  with  gold  or  silver  clasps  and  edgings, 
and  suspended  by  a  gold  or  silver  chain. 

You  may  have  expected  to  see  showy  dressing,  and 
many  poor  women,  too,  in  dresses  of  humble  stuff  and 
sober  color.  Rich  and  poor  are  here  ;  but  you  were  not 
prepared  for  the  exhibition  of  brilliant  fabrics  by  some 
that  day,  in  the  New  Amsterdam  church. 


A  SERVICE   AT  THE   CHURCH.  141 

But  what  is  that  imposing  retinue  you  now  witness, 
slowly  passing  through  the  door  of  St.  Nikolaas'  church  ? 
The  bell-ringer  or  sexton  and  his  assistants  visited  the  very 
respectable  Stadt  Huis,  or  City  Hall,  and  there  marshalled 
the  black-robed  burgomasters  and  schepens  (schout, 
too,  I  presume,  if  not  needed  elsewhere)  in  a  very  dig- 
nified column.  From  the  Stadt  HLuis  they  moved  out  in 
solemn  order,  St.  Nikolaas'  bell-ringer  and  his  aids  going 
before  them  bearing  their  "cushions  of  state."  In  a 
sober  way  the  small  procession  moved  to  the  gate  of  the 
fort,  in  pride  passed  its  abashed  sentry,  and  in  self-con- 
scious, stately  fashion  now  pass  up  to  their  appointed 
pew.  How  the  congregation  "stare  !  On  all  important 
occasions,  civil  or  ecclesiastical,  the  City  Fathers  receive 
much  attention,  for  it  is  a  very  honorable  office  that  they 
fill.  Men  in  other  walks  in  life  may  come  and  go  when  they 
please,  may  dress  as  they  wish,  but  not  the  City  Fathers. 

Dress  ?  How  showily  some  of  the  men  in  this  con-, 
gregation  dress  !  The  rainbow  colors  in  church  to-day 
are  not  all  wrapped  about  the  women.  Far  more  pic- 
turesque and  bright  than  the  present  century's  were  the 
garments  in  which  colonial  fathers  and  sons  were  decked. 

But  hark  !     What  do  you  hear  now  in  the  church  ? 

1  cannot  say  just  where  the  sound  should  come  in,  but 
I  will  let  this  positive  note  be  struck  on  the  floor  here — 
the  bell-ringer's  procession  heralding  it.  It  is  the  thump 
of  a  wooden  leg  that  pounds  its  way  vigorously,  impetu- 
ously along  the  floor  ;  and  lo  !  Heer  Director  Stuy- 


142  BEHIND  MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

vesant  !  He  receives  a  bigger  stare  than  those  City  Fathers 
even.  He  is  accustomed  to  dress  richly  ;  and  I  doubt 
not  his  coat  and  doublet,  lace  and  buttons,  knee-breeches, 
his  one  silk  stocking  and  one  silver  shoe- buckle  are  all 
in  shining  order.  He  brings  to  church  this  morning  his 
smooth,  strong  face,  expressive  of  great  will  and  a 
temper  that  can  fire  up  on  a  notice  not  at  all  lengthy. 
A  man  of  brains,  honest,  courageous,  faithful  to  his  em- 
ployers, of  excellent  intentions,  a  born  leader,  he  is  not 
always  able  to  appreciate  the  size  of  other  white  people's 
rights  ;  and  while  he  has  been  commended  for  his  vigor- 
ous management  of  the  savages,  he  sometimes  has  man- 
aged New  Amsterdam  as  if  it  were  peopled  by  Indians 
rather  than  whites.  But  we  are  more  interested  in  the 
things  of  this  Sunday.  Who  is  it  that  radiantly  flutters 
after  the  Heer  Director  ?  Yrouw  Stuyvesant,  yes,  I 
verily  believe,  a  lady  of  French  descent,  the  gossips 
say,  with  fair  face,  and  her  dresses  are  reputed  to  have 
a  Parisian  elegance.*  More  eyes,  admiring  and  envious, 
are  levelled  at  her  than  even  at  the  great  Pieter. 

You  see  them  ;  and  Harold,  too,  has  eyes  for  all 
these.  From  his  seat  near  the  door  he  has  a  range  of 
view  over  the  church.  Under  which  pretty  silk  hood, 
though,  are  the  dark  eyes  belonging  to  the  young  woman 
whom  he  saw  one  day  rubbing  such  brightness  into  an 
old  brass  knocker  ?  Where  is  she  ?  he  wonders. 

Suddenly  a  fat  man  puffs  by  Harold's  pew,  and  you 

*  History  of  the  City  of  New  York,  by  Martha  J.  Lamb,  Vol.  I., 
p.  129. 


A   SERVICE   AT  THE   CHURCH.  143 

notice  that  the  fat  man  wears  a  green  velvet  coat,  green 
breeches,  and  green  hose.  Everything  seems  too  small 
for  him,  and  he  has  a  look  as  of  one  imprisoned  in  some- 
thing, and  who  would  be  very  glad  to  get  out  of  bond- 
age. Of  the  fat  woman  who  waddles  next  you  can  only 
say  that  she  flutters  and  pants  along  under  some  kind 
of  a  white  cloud-like  hood,  for  your  attention  is  at  once 
absorbed  in  a  sweet  face  whose  beauty  is  heightened  by  a 
deep  blush  accompanying  the  consciousness  that  Katryne 
Schuyler,  as  well  as  Hans  and  Lysbet,  have  come  to 
church  late  !  Just  under  her  chin  she  has  tucked  a 
cluster  of  shining  buttercups,  and  as  they  nestle  on  her 
snowy  collar  it  wonderfully  helps  her  beauty.  She 
wears  a  light,  soft  cherry-colored  hood,  a  bodice  of  yellow 
satin,  a  gown  of  black  satin,  while  the  silken  petticoat  is 
of  pale  blue.  Her  hose  are  blue  and  her  slippers  have 
gold-colored  lacings.  This  late  flock  is  penned  at  last, 
and  the  eyes  of  Harold  and  the  rest  of  the  congregation, 
including  ourselves,  are  turned  toward  the  dominie. 

The  occupant  of  the  pulpit  to-day  will  be  the  Rev.  Jo- 
hannes Megapolensis.  The  Rev.  Samuel  Drissius  is  also 
serving  this  church  and  assisting  Dominie  Megapolensis. 
He  knows  both  the  French  and  English  tongues  while  a 
preacher  in  the  Dutch,  and  this  extra  knowledge  won 
him  his  place,  for  he  can  hold  service  in  both  those  extra 
tongues.  Once  a  month  he  preaches  to  the  French 
Huguenots  who  have  found  on  Staten  Island  a  home  and 
a  path  to  heaven  their  own  way. 

It  is  Dominie  Johannes  Megapolensis  that  is  in  the  church 


144  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

to-day.  His  name  is  long  enough  to  be  Dutch  or  any- 
thing else  in  Northern  Europe  ;  but  this  is  from  the  South, 
from  Greece.  Once  he  was  a  plain  Van  Mekelenburg, 
but  there  has  prevailed  among  mankind  a  fashion  of 
changing  the  name — perhaps  for  reasons  of  religion— and 
in  this  New  Amsterdam  parson's  name  we  find  traces  of 
an  old  European  custom  whereby  scholars  have  given  a 
Greek  dress  to  their  name.  A  promising  young  classical 
scholar,  Schwartzerd,  became  Melanchthon.  So  Mekelen- 
burg has  become  in  Greek  Megapolensis. 

There  he  stands  now  at  the  foot  of  the  pulpit  stairs  in 
the  church  of  St.  Nikolaas.  Look  at  him  twice,  apos- 
tolic Johannes  Megapolensis,  gray -haired,  a  man  of  sixty, 
who  up  the  North  River,  at  Rensselaerwyck,  learned 
the  Indian's  "  heavy  language,"  as  he  called  it,  and  then 
ho  made  of  it  in  his  love  a  light,  quick  wing  on  which 
he  sent  out  his  messages  of  the  cross,  winning  many. 

He  now  halts  ere  he  ascends  the  stairs,  bowing,  and 
covering  his  face  with  his  hat.  He  is  silently  offering  a 
prayer  that  the  blessing  of  God  may  rest  on  his  prayers 
this  day.  Then  he  ascends  to  his  place  in  St.  Nikolaas' 
pulpit.  I  can  only  think  of  this  as  in  the  old  colonial 
Dutch  church  style,  round  and  lofty,  and  a  sounding-board 
is  suspended  above  it,  holding  both  a  promise  to  assist  the 
dominie's  voice  and  a  threat  to  drop  and  smother  any 
infelicities.  As  the  dominie  stands  there  in  his  sacred 
nook  we  notice  that  he  is  arrayed  in  a  black  silk  gown  with 
large  flowing  sleeves.  This  was  an  imperative  custom 


A   SERVICE   AT  THE   CHURCH.  145 

in  colonial  days.  The  story  is  told  of  an  old-time  min- 
ister who  was  to  be  installed  in  his  work,  but  was  not 
furnished  with  the  customary  vestment.  The  presiding 
clergyman  refused  to  officiate.  Fortunately  a  kind- 
hearted  minister  furnished  the  desired  robe,  and  the  ap- 
pointed service  went  forward. 

The  sable  gown  of  Dominie  Megapolensis  is  doubtless 
not  only  in  due  order  this  Sunday,  but  the  clerk*  or 
reader  is  in  his  place — a  little  pew-like  nook  in  front  of 
the  pulpit.  The  clerk's  duty  is  to  read  the  Scriptures 
in  the  morning  service,  and  in  the  afternoon  he  recites 
the  Apostles'  Creed. f 

Listen  now  !  The  services  are  reverently  opened.  You 
will  hear  the  dominie's  assistant  read  sonorously  and  im- 
pressively the  Scriptures.  This  same  officer  is  an  impor- 
tant medium  between  the  common  world  below  and  the 
sacred  oracle  above.  He  receives  any  notices  from  the 
sexton,  and  placing  them  on  the  end  of  a  long  rod,  he 
will  at  the  proper  time  respectfully  tender  them  to  the 
dominie  for  judicious  publication.  He  is  seated  now. 
The  praying  to-day  is  to  us  in  an  unknown  tongue.  The 
tone  is  reverent  and  tender. 

*  Voorleezer. 

f  This  aud  other  customs  I  find  in  such  works  as  William  L. 
Stone's  History  of  New  York  City,  pp.  77,  78,  and  G.  P.  Disosway's 
Earliest  Churches  of  New  York,  pp.  35,  36 ;  A.  J.  Weise's  His- 
tory of  the  City  of  Albany,  pp.  192,  193  ;  and  as  they  are  old 
colonial  usages,  I  have  thought  of  them  as  features  of  the  services 
in  the  church  of  St.  Nikolaas. 


146  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

But  the  singing,  what  of  that  ?  I  venture  to  apply  to 
it  the  words  of  another  about  an  ancient  service,  the 
"  solemn  psalmody,"  the  "long-drawn  Gregorian  chant. " 
How  it  rises  higher  and  higher,  expands  more  and 
more  till  the  church  within  the  fort  is  filled  with,  the 
melody  !  The  clerk  is  expected  to  lead,  and  he  fails 
not  to  keep  his  voice  at  the  front !  One  other 
voice  I  specially  notice,  for  it  is  special.  There  are 
substances  which  we  call  diaphanous  because  letting 
the  light  through.  So  there  are  voices  which  let  the 
soul  through  the  sound,  the  emotion  within,  reverence, 
'worship,  compassion,  consecration,  coming  out  through 
this  susceptible  medium  of  the  voice  and  soaring  in 
adoration  or  sinking  in  submission,  then  reaching  out  in 
sympathy  to  every  want  or  turning  to  God  in  a  quiet 
trust,  and  there  nestling  like  a  timid  bird's  wing  folded 
against  the  mother's  breast. 

Harold  Wharton  notices  that  voice.  "It  is  the  fair 
Dutch  maid,"  he  says,  and  admires. 

No,  it  is  not  Katryne  Schuyler.  She  sings,  but  not 
in  this  unusual  fashion.  She  sings  more  for  herself  than 
for  others,  even  as  the  swallows  twitter. 

While  this  digression  has  been  occupying  our  thoughts, 
the  dominie  has  reached  his  sermon.  It  was  an  old-time 
custom  that  as  a  dominie  pronounced  the  last  word  of  his 
text  and  before  he  began  his  sermon  he  should  piously 
ejaculate  "  Thus  far  !"  Why  was  that  ?  To  signify  the 
separation  between  the  divine  and  the  human,  that 


A  SEKVICE   AT  THE   CHTJKCH.  147 

"  thus  far"  it  was  God's  Word  and  then  came  a  man's 
comment  ?  I  will  pass  on  to  the  human  comment  which 
Dominie  Megapolensis  gives  in  unmistakable  Dutch. 
Patiently,  and  I  doubt  not  edifyingly,  he  follows  his 
text. 

How  long  ?  Where  is  the  clock  ?  No  church  clocks 
in  those  days  to  tick  their  "  now  !  now  !"  when  a  ser- 
mon begins,  and  their  "  stop  !  stop  !"  at  a  reasonable 
point  for  closing,  but  oftentimes  warning  ineffectually. 

There  is  the  hour-glass  instead,  and  set,  too,  at  the 
preacher's  right  hand.  It  is  a  clerk's  duty,  when  the 
last  grain  of  sand  may  have  run  out,  to  remind  the  ab- 
sorbed dominie  of  the  fact  that  sermon-closing  time  has 
arrived,  and  admonishingly  he  must  rap  three  times  with 
his  cane.  The  story  is  given  of  one  dominie  who  saw 
his  clerk  asleep,  and  he  kept  on  and  on  and  let  the  hour- 
glass run  out  a  second  time.  Then  he  remarked  to  his 
hearers  that  as  they  had  been  so  patiently  sitting  through 
two  glasses,  he  would  proceed  with  the  third  ! 

1  do  not  think  this  is  a  mistaken  vision  in  me  when  I  see 
an  hour-glass  at  the  right  hand  of  Dominie  Megapolen- 
sis, and  that  he  does  not  need  to  hear  three  ominous  cane 
raps  to  know  that  the  glass  is  out.  Faithful  preacher  of  the 
Word  !  Toiling  alone  or  with  others,  he  is  loyal  to  the 
Rule  of  God.  This  year  (1663)  the  chroniclers  set  down 
as  the  date  of  his  son  Samuel's  appearance  in  New  Amster- 
dam as  a  clerical  worker  ;  but  whether  that  helper  may 
be  here  now  or  not,  the  father  will  do  his  duty,  setting 


148  BEHIND   MANHATTAN  GABLES. 

the  hour-glass  on  the  tall  pulpit  Sunday  by  Sunday,  and 
watching  the  sands  dribble  patiently  away,  and  so  on, 
other  Sundays,  till  one  day  in  1670  that  hand  will  be 
powerless,  the  sands  in  his  own  glass  of  time  having  all 
run  away. 

The  sermon  over,  is  an  offering  made,  and  for  the  poor, 
perhaps  ?  Let  us  think  of  an  old-time  method  as  kept 
this  Sunday  in  1663.  The  deacons  rise  to  officiate,  stand 
while  the  dominie  commends  kindness  to  the  poor,  and 
then  each  seizing  a  long  pole  that  in  turn  seizes  a  black 
velvet  bag,  goes  among  the  congregation. 

And  hark  !  A  soft,  clear  tinkle,  and  then  another 
and  another  you  catch  among  the  aisles.  The  tinkles 
musically  go  down  the  aisles,  and  then  come  up  the 
aisles,  and  clash  together  at  the  journey's  close.  Ah  ! 
there  are  diminutive  bells  swinging  from  the  black  velvet 
bags.  Whether  these  sweet  warnings  aroused  the  sleep- 
ers and  stirred  the  consciences  of  those  wide  awake,  the 
contents  of  the  bags  in  wampum  and  silver  will  show. 

The  dominie,  though,  is  praying,  and  please  give  at- 
tention. His  hands  are  lifted  in  the  benediction,  and 
to  the  hush  accompanying  it  soon  succeeds  the  exit  of 
the  congregation.  Then  the  men  march  toward  the 
door,  and  the  hoods  of  their  spouses  swing  obediently  and 
point  to  the  door  like  the  vanes  that  turn  and  head  the 
way  of  the  imperative  wind.  All  go,  Pieter  Stuy  vesant, 
his  vrouw,  the  City  Fathers,  the  deacons,  the  dominie — all. 

And  Harold  goes  out  also  ?     No,  he  is  sitting  there  by 


A   SERVICE   AT  THE   CHURCH.  149 

the  door,  his  head  suspiciously  rising  and  falling.  He  is 
very  tired,  having  rambled  much  the  past  week.  He 
followed  the  sermon  as  faithfully  as  possible ;  but 
at  last  a  veil,  a  thick  veil,  seemed  to  drop  before 
Harold's  eyes.  The  preacher's  tones,  caught  in  the 
folds  of  this  veil,  were  softly  muffled.  They  finally 
came  to  Harold's  ear  like  the  pleasant  hum  of  the  wind 
rising  and  falling  amid  the  rigging  of  the  ship  that 
brought  him  over  the  sea.  He  was  then  back  in  Eng- 
land again,  in  the  old  parish  church  at  home.  His  father 
was  officiating.  He  heard  the  reading  of  the  Psalter 
and  the  singing  of  the  sweet  chants.  He  was  in  the  rec- 
tor's pew  ;  and  was  his  mother  singing  ?  When  she 
bowed  her  head  did  she  bow  in  prayer  for  an  absent  son  ? 
Did  she  know  he  was  there  ?  He  went  up  to  his  father 
and  laid  his  hand  on  him.  Did  his  father  feel  the 
touch  ?  Suddenly  it  came  over  him  that  his  father  was 
dead.  In  an  instant  everything  changed.  The  light  in 
the  windows  vanished.  The  singing  came  from  a  dis- 
tance. His  mother  was  holding  out  entreating  hands  to 
him.  Everybody  seemed  to  die.  Harold  went  into  a 
silence,  a  dark,  death-like  mist.  He  was  aroused  by  a 
sound  somewhat  like  the  noise  of  feet  passing  over  a 
floor.  He  heard  an  object  go  "  pound,  pound,"  and  it 
went  by  him.  Was  it  a  hammer  falling,  or  could  it  be 
a  leg  of  wood  striking  other  wood  like  that  of  a  floor  ? 

There  was  a  continued  noise  of  passing  feet.     There 
was  more  rustling  of  dresses.     It  seemed  as  if  one  sweet 


150  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

face  looked  pityingly  at  him.  That  must  have  been  the 
Dutch  maiden's,  he  confusedly  thought.  Then  a  hand 
shook  him  roughly.  Was  it  Yan  Schenkel's  ?  He  awoke. 
Where  was  he  ?  What  was  this  empty  building  ?  Oh, 
a  church  !  He  rose  sleepily,  shook  himself,  staggered 
out  into  the  air,  and  saw  a  sentry  in  his  steeple-crowned 
hat,  heavy  blouse,  and  capacious  breeches,  a  threatening 
gun  on  his  shoulder,  who  was  lazily  pacing  a  path  in  a 
fort  with  walls  of  earth  and  bastions  of  stone. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A     MASTER     WANTED. 

u  WHAT  a  spectacle  I  must  have  been  in  that  Dutch 
church  !"  thought  Harold. 

Did  that  young  woman  see  him  ?  he  wondered.  He 
left  the  fort  by  its  main  gateway  and  stepped  out  upon 
the  Parade.  Then  he  sauntered  along  the  plebeian 
Beavers'  Path  (De  Bever  Graft).  Hanging  his  head 
low  one  moment,  he  threw  it  up  the  next  ;  there  was 
that  young  woman,  and  walking,  too,  with  the  strutting, 
pirate-looking  Captain  Van  Schenkel  ! 

He  seemed  in  Harold's  eye  to  be  a  demon-eyed  griffin 
leading  along  triumphantly  an  unsuspecting  lamb  with 
fair  face  and  fleece.  If  Harold  could  only  have  been 
the  guide  of  this  lamb  ! 

"  How  is  it  that  she  and  that  man  are  together  ?"  he 
asked  himself,  scowling  gloomily.  "  It  would  please  me 
if  1  could  take  that  imp  to  the  river  and  duck  him.  1 
will  keep  an  eye  on  them  and  see  where  she  goes.  He 
may  go  as  fancy  drifts  him,  for  I  don't  care  anything  at 
all  about  At'w." 

They  made  a  turn  around  the  corner  of  a  building,  and 
Harold  intended  to  make  the  same  turn,  but  he  halted 


152  BEHIND   MANHATTAN  GABLES. 

when  he  saw  a  most  lugubrious  face  at  a  window.  It 
was  sable  as  well  as  mournful. 

"  A  slave  !"  murmured  Harold.  "  The  man  looks  as 
if  he  wanted  something  of  me." 

Harold's  guess  was  correct.  It  was  one  of  New  Am- 
sterdam's bondmen. 

Slaves  were  early  brought  to  the  Dutch  in  America 
and  by  the  Dutch  themselves.  They  were  found  in 
New  Netherland  as  early  as  1628.  The  Dutch  took 
them  also  to  the  English  on  the  Virginia  plantations. 
That  might  seem  a  strange  traffic  for  such  liberty-loving 
people  as  Hollanders  ;  but  liberty  for  yourself  does  not 
necessarily  imply  that  you  will  let  your  neighbor  have 
it.  The  past  has  some  strange  ideas  current  among  its 
thinkers,  even  as  the  thinkers  of  to-day  carry  along  some 
singular  ideas  in  their  mental  packs.  Sir  Edward  Coke, 
that  famous  English  lawyer  and  jurist,  is  charged  with 
this  saying,  that  a  Christian  fittingly  could  hold  a  pagan 
in  bondage,  for  the  Christian  was  the  servant  of  God  and 
the  pagan  was  the  bond-slave  of  Satan  !  One  naturally 
asks  what  was  the  special  need  of  slave  labor  in  New 
Netherland.  It  is  said  that  one  thing  making  a  demand 
for  slave  labor  was  the  tempting  nature  of  the  fur  trade, 
to  whose  profits  New  Amsterdam  owed  its  existence. 
The  farm  hands  brought  from  Holland  saw  such  pecu- 
niary fascinations  in  the  skin  on  the  back  of  the  beaver 
and  other  animals  that  for  the  sake  of  the  traffic  they 
would  quit  farm  work,  and  the  farmers  felt  obliged  to 


A  MASTER  WAHTED.  153 

resort  to  slave  ownership.  There  were  about  eight  hun- 
dred negroes  in  New  York  when  the  seventeenth  century 
closed,  and  most  of  these  were  slaves.  There  were  Ind- 
ian slaves  also.  There  was  a  law  in  1711  that  "  all  negro 
and  Indian  slaves  that  are  let  out  to  hire  within  the  city 
do  take  up  their  standing  in  order  to  be  hired  at  the 
Market  House  at  the  Wall  Street  slip."  The  negro 
slave  was  so  much  of  a  fixture  in  the  possessions  of  New 
Amsterdam  that  slow-plodding  Dutch  vessels  brought 
the  unhappy  slaves  direct  from  their  homes  in  Africa. 
In  its  outward  feature  it  has  been  classed  as  not  a  very 
harsh  slavery,  for  the  Dutch  were  not  rigorous  taskmas- 
ters ;  but  any  form  of  slavery  that  stands  between  the 
soul  and  the  free  enjoyment  of  sun  or  soil  or  water,  any- 
thing affecting  personal  liberty,  is  an  accursed  evil,  and, 
like  Abel's  blood,  cries  out  to  Heaven  for  vengeance. 
The  latter  will  come.  The  negro  element  in  New  Am- 
sterdam was  an  earthquake  uneasy  enough  and  violent 
enough  to  make  the  little  Dutch  city  tremble  at  times. 
It  was  white  with  fear  more  than  once  in  the  presence  of 
these  black  faces.  In  all  this,  New  Netherland  antici- 
pated the  curse  sure  to  be  reaped  by  America  one  day 
when  God  might  call  it  to  go  out  and  gather  in  its  bloody 
harvest.  New  York,  ever  cosmopolitan,  even  in  its  in- 
fant days,  was  inside  the  small  limits  of  New  Amster- 
dam confronting  some  of  those  serious  problems  that 
have  perplexed  later  America  in  the  presence  of  the 
negro  and  Indian.  Ah,  rather,  how  we  have  perplexed 


154  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

the  Indian  and  the  negro  !  Looking  up  in  surprise  to 
see  the  polyglot  nations  swarming  to  our  doors,  we  think 
of  New  Amsterdam  as  the  humble  prototype  of  Great 
America — New  Amsterdam,  that  heard  in  its  pigmy 
streets  the  jabber  of  eighteen  tongues,  and  made  room 
for  them  all.  While  Great  America  excludes  crime, 
may  we  with  both  hands  make  room  for  and  welcome 
every  foreigner  bringing  an  honest,  ennobling  purpose  ! 

One  of  the  negro  race  was  now  about  to  challenge 
Harold  Wharton's  attention.  There  was  such  a  helpless- 
ness of  expression  to  this  slave's  face  that  Harold's  at- 
tention was  both  caught  and  held. 

"  He  must  be  a  man  about  fifty  years  old,  anyway, 
for  that  knob  of  hair  on  top  of  his  head  is  gray," 
thought  Harold.  "  He  stares  out  of  that  window  as  if 
he  wanted  something  of  me." 

The  interest  always  wakened  by  anything  new  was 
very  strong  in  Harold  now.  There  was  also  the  appeal 
of  something  in  weakness  to  his  strength,  to  the  opulence 
of  a  young  man's  resources.  Harold  felt  that  he  must 
turn  toward  the  black  and  respond  to  his  mute  appeal  ; 
and  yet  if  he  did  this  he  would  lose  sight  of  the  griffin 
and  the  lamb.  He  did  make  a  temporary  halt,  and, 
facing  the  window  that  framed  the  black's  melancholy 
features,  gave  him  a  very  sympathetic  and  prolonged 
look. 

"  I'll  come  again  in  a  few  minutes  and  find  out  what 
the  matter  is  with  the  man.  1  shall  lose  those  people  if 


A   MASTER   WANTED.  155 

1  don't  look  out.  I  want  to  see  where — lie — she  goes," 
thought  Harold.  But  when  he  turned  to  follow  them, 
and  looked  round  the  building  at  whose  corner  he  saw 
them  last,  they  had  gone  !  Where  had  the  griffin  taken 
that  poor  helpless  lamb  ?  Where  had  he  gone  off  with 
his  booty — or  was  it  a  going  down  ?  Had  he  access  to 
the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and  had  he  sunk  by  a  secret  pas- 
sage to  his  den  ? 

Harold  looked  to  right  and  left.  Was  there  a  door 
near  him  suggesting  that  somebody  could  get  into  a 
house  thereby  ?  Every  house  he  saw  had  closed  walls  in 
his  direction,  and  looked  as  if  they  had  been  sealed  up 
for  a  century.  Keluctantly  Harold  turned  back.  The 
moment  he  had  done  so  Van  Schenkel  peered  slyly 
round  a  corner  and  sent  a  diabolical  grin  after  the  chop- 
fallen  young  Englishman.  Then  the  griffin  laughed 
softly,  and  pulled  his  head  back. 

Harold  returned  to  the  building  at  one  of  whose  win- 
dows he  had  seen  the  negro. 

"  Nobody  there,"  he  said  ;  "  but  1  will  look  in  and 
see  what  straits  this  man  may  be  in.  He  may  need 
help." 

In  the  front  wall  of  the  building  was  °n  open  door, 
and  it  seemed  to  say  "  Come  in  !" 

Harold  entered. 

A  frequently  found  style  of  building  in  New  Amster- 
dam was  one  that  on  the  first  floor  was  arranged  as  a 
store.  Harold  saw  counters  and  shelves  in  the  room  he 


156  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

entered,  but  nothing  heavier  than  dust  was  on  the 
shelves. 

The  negro  was  the  occupant  of  a  rush-bottomed  chair 
in  the  centre  of  this  room.  He  slowly  rose  as  his  caller 
entered,  surprising  Harold  by  the  revelations  of  height 
he  made,  his  figure  steadily  elongating,  like  a  bamboo 
fishing-rod  pulled  out  section  by  section. 

"  What  a  giant  !"  thought  Harold,  wondering  where 
all  the  material  for  this  imposing  monument  came  from. 
"  He  is  like  one  of  the  sons  of  Anak." 

The  idea  of  any  weakness  in  such  a  structure  seemed 
an  absurdity  ;  but  there  was  the  pitiful,  the  appealing 
face,  and  it  was  all  the  more  touching  because  it  capped 
such  a  seeming  tower  of  vigor. 

"  1  saw  your  face  at  the  window,  and  1  thought  you 
looked  sick.  Can  1  do  anything  for  you?"  asked 
Harold. 

"  Yah,  yah,"  was  the  answer  in  negro-English.  "  Me 
sick.  I'm  better  when  massa  come." 

"  Your  master  lives  here  ?" 

"  Yah— his  shop." 

"  He  will  look  after  you,  then  ?" 

"  Yah;  when  he  come." 

"Is  he  away?" 

"  Oh,  yah.     Done  gone  'way.     Oh,  some  time  !" 

"  Why  doesn't  he  come  and  look  after  things  ?" 

"  Dunno.  Dey  all  say  jes  dat  :  '  Whar  he  go  ? ' 
*  Why  don'  he  come  back  ? '  Me  know  nuffin'." 


A  MASTER   WANTED.  157 

"  Are  you  sure  he  is  coming  ?" 

"  Oh,  yah  ;  some  time — he  nms' — dis  yer  shop — he 
mus'  come." 

"  Who  takes  care  of  the  shop  ?" 

"  Me  ;  an'  den  a  man  who  lib  on  De  Ileeren  Graf,  he 
come.  Oh,  he  want  eberyt'ing — he  want  me." 

"What  does  he  want  everything  for  ?"  asked  Har- 
old, whose  interest  in  novelties  might  betray  him  into 
inquisitiveness.  Here  was  a  new  section  of  humanity, 
and  he  must  go  over  it  and  look  into  it  and  find  out 
what  he  could.  He  was  the  traveller  who  had  just 
struck  a  new  shore,  and  he  must  see  what  there  was  be- 
hind the  shore  line. 

"  What  dat  man  want  eberyt'ing  for?  Oh,  he — he 
-he-pig  !" 

"  That  is  bad.  Your  massa  away  and  a  pig  wanting 
everything  !  Haven't  you  any  friends  ?" 

"  Oh,  hab  some.     Hab  injul  !" 

"An  Injun?" 

"  Injul,  injul  !" 

He  could  not  make  his  meaning  clear,  and  left  in  a  fog 
the  whole  subject  of  this  mysterious  friendship. 

Harold  changed  the  subject. 

"  How  do  you  get  your  living  ?" 

"  Whah?" 

"  Oh,  things  to  eat — your  bread,  wood,  clothes  ?'7 

"  Oh,  me  fish,  go  on  ship,  do  anyt'ing.  Ah,  me  hate 
de  man  dat  bring  me  here  !" 


158  BEHIND    MANHATTAN-    GABLES. 

"  Bring  you  here  ?     Where  from  ?' ' 

"  Ober  de  water.  He  bring  lot  ob  slabe.  Ole  pie- 
rat  !" 

"  The  man  that  brought  you  over  the  water  a  pirate  ?" 

"  Yah  !" 

11  Bad  man — very  bad  man  !"  declared  Harold,  shak- 
ing his  head. 

The  black  man  now  acted  as  if  it  were  his  turn  to  find 
out  who  this  inspector  might  be. 

"  Whar  you  come  from  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  am  from  England." 

"  Yer  mummer  wid  yer  ?' ' 

"  Mother  ?     Ha  !  ha  !     You  think  1  need  her  ?" 

"  Good  to  hab  yer  mummer.  Me  hab  one  ober  de 
water.  Dat  ole  pie-rat  tuk  me  !" 

"Did  he?     The  villain!" 

"  Yer  g  wine  lib  here?" 

"  I  may  if  1  find  my  uncle." 

"  Los'  yer  onkl  ?" 

"  Afraid  so." 

A  sudden  light  came  into  the  negro's  dark  eyes.  An 
idea  had  visited  him.  He  was  anxious  to  find  the  mas- 
ter whose  property  he  was  guarding,  and  this  young  man 
wanted  to  find  his  uncle.  The  common  need  established 
a  bond  between  them.  He  reached  out  a  huge  paw. 

Harold  took  it,  or,  rather,  it  covered  his  hand,  fold- 
ing all  about  it. 

"  Two  frien's  !» 


A   MASTER   WANTED.  151) 

"  Yes,"  said  Harold,  acknowledgiDg  the  fellowship. 

Looking  out  of  the  window  just  then,  Harold  gave  a 
start.  Captain  Van  Schenkel  was  going  by.  The  griffin 
was  alone. 

"  1  don't  like  that  man  !"  muttered  Harold. 

The  negro  looked  out  and  gave  a  start  also. 

"  Dat  de  ole  pie-rat  !" 

"  He  brought  you  from  Africa — over  the  water — in 
his  ship  ?" 

"  De  berry  one  !     Wha'  he  done  you  ?" 

"  He  has  in  his  ship  one  of  my  friends,  a  sailor." 

"  He  bad  !     Nuffin'  good  in  dat  man  !" 

The  black  thought  a  moment.  He  and  the  young 
man  both  disliked  "  de  ole  pie-rat."  It  was  a  new  bond 
of  fellowship.  He  reached  out  his  big  hand  again. 

"  We  be  frien's  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  here's  my  hand  ;  but  I  must  go  now.  I 
want  to  find  out  where  Captain  Yan  Schenkel's  ves- 
sel is." 

"  Ship  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  He  a  rat — pie-rat.  No  much  find  'bout  him  ;  not 
one  t'ing." 

"I'll  try  it,  though." 

"  Me  go  wid  ye — no,  me  sick." 

"  Oh,  you  stay  here.  I'll  come  to-morrow,  and  I  may 
do  something  for  you.  Take  this  money,  and  buy  what 
you  want." 


160  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

Harold  left  behind  him  a  cavernous  month  ejaculating 
in  wonder  and  joy,  "  Oh— h  !"  He  was  determined  to 
track  Van  Schenkel  to  his  ship  ;  but  when  out  in  the 
street  again  he  could  see  nothing  of  the  man.  He  had 
again  mysteriously  disappeared. 

11 1  will  go  down  to  the  water-gate  and  along  the  shore 
and  hunt  up  the  man's  ship  while  he  is  gone.  Then  I 
can  see  George  Martin.  Van  Schenkel  would  never  let 
me  see  him  if  he  knew  of  it. " 

The  water-gate  always  was  a  magnet  to  Harold. 
Where  to-day  Pearl  and  Wall  streets  meet  was  the  site 
of  the  old  water-gate.  The  name  is  pretentious,  and  if 
bordered  by  a  battery  of  two  cannon  and  a  steadfast 
guard  grimly  supporting  his  matchlock,  according  to  one 
prevalent  sketch  of  the  place,  the  neighborhood  must 
have  been  imposing.  Harold  looked  down  upon  the 
waters  of  East  Kiver,  swept  by  a  cool,  noisy,  rough  wind. 
High  tides  had  sometimes  been  very  troublesome. 

The  Stadt  Huys  (City  Hall),  fronting  East  River,  and 
located  near  the  head  of  the  present  Coenties  Slip,  had 
been  very  uncivilly  approached  by  high  tides,  sending 
their  foam  with  a  menace  almost  to  the  door.  Municipal 
pride  could  not  stand  this,  and  it  was  more  potent  than 
ever  Canute's  sceptre  when  his  parasites  wanted  him  to 
shake  it  at  the  advancing  tide.  Along  the  river  bank 
was  built  a  "siding"  of  wood  called  "  the  Schoeyinge," 
and  it  protected  both  the  Stadt  Huys  and  the  bank.  As 
the  people  living  along  De  Paerl  Straat  had  been  much 


A   MASTER   WANTED.  161 

annoyed,  the  waves  showing  a  very  unceremonious  dis- 
position to  call  upon  them,  washing  up  to  their  very 
walls,  this  siding  eventually  was  extended  so  as  to  give 
all  needed  protection. 

From  the  water-gate  Harold  now  looked  across  East 
River  to  Long  Island.  Suspended  as  by  magic  in  the 
air  was  no  mighty  bridge,  across  which  flocked  the  inhab- 
itants and  vehicles  of  some  apparently  supernal  region. 
There  was  no  stretching  water  front  of  a  great  city  on 
that  eastern  shore,  no  lines  of  noble  warehouses,  ships 
and  steamers,  and  farther  away  the  receding  roofs  of  a 
multitude  of  homes.  It  was  a  shore  waiting  for  fuller 
occupation — for  that  Breuckelen  whose  great  future  as  a 
noble  municipality  was  sure  to  come. 

A  single  vessel  was  lying  in  the  stream.  Was  it  Yan 
Schenkel's  ?  A  boat,  the  only  boat  visible  on  the  Sun- 
day tide,  was  making  its  way,  not  toward,  but  past  the 


"  1  think  I  know,"  reflected  Harold,  "  that  the  man 
in  the  stern  of  that  boat  is  Van  Schenkel.  He  has 
shoulders  like  the  pie-rat's,  and  carries  his  head  the  same 
way.  But  it  can't  be  his  vessel,  for  his  boat  is  going 
beyond  it,  toward  Breuckelen.  George  Martin  is  not  in 
that  ship.  I  will  wait  and  watch,  though.  The  boat 
may  come  back  to  the  vessel." 

The  little  craft  patiently  made  its  way  to  the  Breucke- 
len shore,  and  there  halted.  Harold  waited  a  long  time. 
He  saw  no  prospect  of  the  boat's  return,  and  was  discour- 


162  BEHIND  MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

aged.  He  was  hungry,  and  he  might  lose  his  dinner  if 
he  waited  longer.  He  turned  toward  his  tavern,  with 
its  sanded  floor  and  steaming  table. 

Soon  after  he  left  the  water-gate,  Van  Schenkel's  boat 
pushed  off  from  the  Breuckelen  shore,  and  was  rowed  to 
the  vessel.  It  was  Yan  Schenkel's  ship,  and  George 
Martin  was  aboard.  Early  the  next  morning  it  let  out 
its  white  sails  and  slowly  floated  away. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE     WRONG     BOOK. 

HAROLD  was  at  the  negro's  the  next  day  as  the  sun 
was  going  down,  and  the  negro  said  he  was  better. 

"  Me  feel  better  when  de  injul  come,"  Harold  was  in- 
formed. 

"  Injun  ?" 

"  Injul,  injul,  in — jul." 

"  How  old  is  he— the— " 

"  Me  dunno.     It  am — she  !" 

"Some  wrinkled  Indian  squaw,  probably,"  thought 
Harold. 

"  Hark  !  Me  t'ink  she  come  fur  now.  Don'  ye 
hear  dat  step  ?" 

As  the  negro  looked  up,  Harold  did  not  know  but 
that  she  would  come  down  through  the  ceiling. 

11 1 — I  think  I  will  go,  and  come  again  some  other 
time." 

"  Oh,  you — you  needn'." 

Harold  had  closed  the  door  by  which  he  entered.  See- 
ing two  doors  side  by  side,  he  took  that  which  he 
thought  might  be  the  right  one.  Instead  of  a  way  out- 
side, it  was  a  door  into  a  closet.  He  had  planted  one 


164  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

foot  within,  and  realizing  his  mistake,  was  backing  out 
when  he  heard  a  step  on  the  very  threshold  of  the  other 
door. 

"  That  injul — that  aged  Indian  squaw  !  I  won't  step 
out  and  surprise  her,  for  that  would  be  awkward,  and  it 
would  give  her  a  shock,"  he  reasoned. 

Added  to  this  was  Harold's  steadily  developing  inter- 
est in  this  mysterious  being,  the  "  injul."  Why  might 
not  the  closet  give  him  a  good  chance  for  observation  ? 
He  fell  back  into  the  closet,  and  shut  the  door. 

"  That  voice  sounds  natural,"  thought  Harold,  as  he 
heard  two  voices  busily  talking  away  in  the  room  without. 

"  One  is  saying  something  about '  I  brought  you  this  ;' 
and  there  he  goes,  '  Me  berry  much  t'ank  you.'  (  Now 
I  must  go,'  says  the  caller.  '  Now — '  " 

Harold  trembled,  for  he  noticed  a  pressure  on  his 
door.  Was  u  de  injul"  coming  in  ? 

"  De  odder  door  !"  hoarsely  exclaimed  the  negro,  ris- 
ing up  and  waving  his  hand  to  the  visitor. 

It  was  too  late. 

The  "  injul"  opened  the  door  before  her,  and  lightly 
screamed, "Oh!  oh!  oh!" 

"  Oh  !  oh  !"  said  the  confused,  blushing  Harold,  step- 
ping out,  "  I  am  very  sorry  to  be — a—  I  thought  this 
was  the  way  out ;  and  then — ' '  Should  he  confess  his 
curiosity  ?  "  I — I  thought  1 — would  like  to  see  the 
'  injul  !  '  Forgive  me,  I  beg  thee  !" 

He  looked  at  the  blushing  face,  and  there  was  Ka- 


THE   WEOSTG   DOOR.  165 

tryne  Schuyler.  She  Lad  clasped  her  hands  over  her 
heart,  throbbing  as  if  it  would  break  its  way  through  the 
pretty  red  bodice  imprisoning  it. 

There  was  the  handsome  young  Englishman  she  had 
been  longing  to  see. 

The  negro  now  shuffled  forward,  holding  up  his  big 
hands. 

"  Don'  say  nuffin'  !"  he  pleaded.  "  Me  nail  dat 
door—" 

"  Oh,  don't  !"  begged  Katryne,  as  a  matter  of  polite- 
ness. 

In  her  heart  she  thought  it  was  the  dearest  door  in  the 
world,  and  ought  to  be  commended,  not  scolded. 

"  Am  I  not  to  be  forgiven  ?"  asked  Harold  penitently, 
holding  out  his  hand. 

Katryne  just  touched  it,  but  how  it  thrilled  her  ! 

"  Yes,"  she  said  faintly,  dropping  her  blushing  face. 

She  recovered  herself. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  murmured. 

"  Let  me — "  Harold  was  opening  the  door  into  the 
street. 

Katryne  stepped  out. 

Harold  followed. 

"  Let  me — walk  with  thee.     It — will  be  dark  soon." 

Katryne  had  a  bewildering  idea  that  she  ought  not  to 
let  him,  stranger  as  he  was,  and  yet  she  did  not  feel  un- 
acquainted, for  had  he  not  often  been  in  her  thoughts, 
keeping  up  a  steadfast  companionship  since  the  day  when 


166  BEHIND  MANHATTAN  GABLES. 

she  had  kindly  consented  to  stand  as  a  kind  of  guide- 
board  for  him  ?  And  he  had  not  by  any  means  forgot- 
ten the  guideboard.  She  did  not  wish  to  repulse  him, 
and  yet  she  felt  obliged  to  shake  her  head  ;  for  what 
would  those  at  home  say,  and  what  would  all  New  Am- 
sterdam say,  did  she  accept  the  guard  of  a  stranger — a 
guard  not  necessary  ? 

She  shook  her  head  again,  feebly,  however,  and  added, 
"  Then  I  have  an  errand  down  by  the  water-gate — " 
She  paused.  "  I  thank  thee,"  she  said  in  a  very  grate- 
ful tone. 

That  muffled  the  sharp  point  of  Harold's  feeling  of 
disappointment. 

He  was  preparing  to  bow  and  leave  her,  when  looking 
up,  he  saw  a  most  welcome  sight.  A  disorderly  crowd 
of  sailors  and  negroes  swarming  out  of  some  place  made 
an  angry  turmoil  ahead.  It  was  a  block  in  the  way  of 
any  advance  to  the  water-gate. 

"  Oh,  look  !  You  must  let  me  come  now.  There  has 
been  a  quarrel  some  way  and  somewhere,  and  it  may 
make  a  lady  much  trouble.  Let  me  be  thy  protector." 

There  was  no  excuse  now  for  Katryne's  further  declina- 
tion. On  the  other  hand,  there  was  justification  of  her 
acceptance  of  this  escort.  Hans  himself,  Lysbet,  the 
schout,  all  the  schepens  and  burgomasters  of  New  Am- 
sterdam, and  the  very  Heer  Director  himself,  could  not 
get  up  a  reasonable  frown  in  this  matter.  If  they  had 
all  come  and  planted  their  rotund  bodies  like  barrels  in 


THE  WROHG   DOOR.  167 

the  way  of  her  progress,  such  obstacles  must  now  roll 
away,  for  there  was  the  turbulent  crowd  ahead.  How 
could  she,  without  an  escort,  attend  to  that  errand  at  the 
water-gate  ?  And  of  course  that  errand  must  receive  at- 
tention. Indeed,  the  longer  she  looked  at  that  crowd 
the  more  loudly  did  duty  beyond  summon  her  to  go  for- 
ward. Now  that  she  could  have  an  escort,  duty  that 
had  the  look  of  necessity  also  took  on  a  strange  fascina- 
tion. 

"I  thank  thee,"  she  murmured  again,  and  so  grate- 
fully. 

Harold  strode  off  boldly,  while  Katryne  followed  him 
with  all  docility.  There  were  dragons,  centaurs,  griffins, 
fire-breathing  bulls  ahead,  and  one  must  defend  and  the 
other  implicitly  trust  the  defender. 

"  1  don't  know  those  people,"  said  Katryne. 

"  No  ;  and  I  don't  want  to." 

tf  Are  many  people  known  to  thee  in  New  Amster- 
dam ?  Thy  home  is  in — " 

"  England  it  was,"  said  Harold  promptly,  supplying 
the  needed  word.  "  America  it  will  be.  Do  1  know 
many  ?  Very  few.  I  don't  know  many  acquaintances, 
and  I  don't  want  to  know  them  too  fast." 

"  Some  cannot  be  trusted." 

"  Some  people  one  seems  to  know  at  once.  They  are 
very  pleasant  ;  one  likes  them,  and  yet  one  may  feel  that 
they  may  go  away  and  talk  about  him  and  make  him 
the  butt  of  their  ridicule." 


168  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"   GABLES. 

"  That  is  heartless  !" 

"  I  sometimes  think  such  people  may  not  mean  to  be 
unfair.  They  are  very  quick  to  see  anything  funny,  and 
like  to  speak  of  it.  They  let  it  out  without  any  thought. " 

"  And  it  does  harm,  just  the  same.  A  bee's  sting 
hurts  one,  whatever  the  bee  means." 

(l  Yes,  yes.  Then,  some  people  don't  let  one  know 
them  at  once  ;  and  what  one  may  see  of  them  may  not 
be  liked.  They  are  cold,  and  they  may  not  be  sweet- 
tempered,  and  so  on  ;  but  we  find  we  can  trust  them, 
and  they  are  sincere,  which  is  a  great  matter." 

Katryne  was  wondering  in  which  class  she  might  be 
put  by  her  escort.  She  had  a  statement  to  make.  "  I 
think  some  people  hold  one  off,  not  because  they  like  it, 
but  they  feel  that  they  must  be  guarded.  Now,  I  have 
a  friend,  Geertruyd  Smidt.  She  is  very  kind  to  those 
she  knows.  As  the  dominie  says,  she  is  one  who  goes 
outside  of  herself.  When  she  meets  a  stranger,  though, 
she  draws  into  a  kind  of  shell,  and  she  pulls  her  head 
in—" 

"Is  thy  friend  a  clam  ?" 

"Geertruyd  Smidt?" 

"  Forgive  me,  lady  !" 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  She  is  very  kind.  It  is  only  her  way. 
Truly,  she  is  a  peach  without  any  stone  in  it." 

u  I  would  I  had  a  tree  of  them  !  You  have  some  fine 
orchards  here  in  New  Amsterdam  ;  and  I  wonder  in 
which  one  is  this  favorite." 


THE  WROKG   DOOR.  169 

Katryne  was  not  going  to  tell  this  young  man  from 
England  everything,  and  she  made  no  other  reply  than 
this  :  "  New  Amsterdam  peaches  are  very  fair  and 
sweet." 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes,  that  is  so,  I  trow." 

"  And  then  sometimes  people  that  may  laugh  at  other 
folks'  follies  and  talk  behind  the  backs  of  others,  stran- 
gers and  that  sort,  may  be  very  sorry  for  it  ;  but  funny 
things  they  can't  help  seeing,  and  they  speak  quick,  too. 
What  is  in  one  seems  to  come  out  even  when  the  door  is 
shut  close,  as  we  think." 

"  Oh,  oh,  of  course  !  1  did  not  mean  anybody  in 
New  Amsterdam." 

"  And  I  did  not  mean  anybody  from  England." 

Now  they  were  approaching  each  other  again,  and 
went  along  laughing  merrily. 

Once  Katryne  thought  of  that  crowd  of  sailors  and 
negroes.  Where  was  it  ?  Away  behind  them.  They 
had  gone  through  the  crowd,  and  neither  had  given  it 
special  attention  at  the  time.  Suddenly  Katryne  stopped, 
and,  guiltily  blushing,  ejaculated  : 

«Oh-h— h!" 

"  What  is  it  ?" 

"  Where  is  that  crowd  ?     1  must  not  keep  thee." 

"  The  crowd  ?  Oh,  I  forgot  about  it.  The  walk  was 
so  pleasant." 

But  the  way  to  the  water-gate  was  unobstructed,  and 
why  should  he  walk  with  her  ? 


170  BEHIND   MANHATTAN  GABLES. 

He  in  turn  exclaimed  "  Oh— h — h  !"  and  confusedly 
stopped. 

Suddenly  three  dogs  broke  round  a  corner  and  snarled 
vehemently  away. 

"Imust  not  let  these  bite  thee,"  said  the  protector 
proudly  and  promptly,  bristling  up  as  Katryne's  lawful 
guardian. 

The  conversation  was  resumed.  They  talked  of  every- 
thing, so  it  seemed,  during  the  timely  barking  of  those 
dogs,  creatures  who  are  quite  wont  to  put  in  their  bark 
at  the  wrong  place. 

The  Indian,  the  savage,  was  an  unfailing  topic  of  talk 
in  those  days,  and  they  talked  of  the  Indian.  Then 
Harold  wanted  to  know  if  she  had  been  in  England. 

"  Oh — oh,  no  !  1  have  lived  in  New  England,  in 
Boston." 

A  brief  conversation  followed  on  the  important  sub- 
ject of  the  encroachments  of  the  New  Englanders,  Har- 
old having  picked  up  odd  items  in  his  rambles  about 
town. 

A  gap  opened  in  the  conversation,  and,  if  prolonged, 
it  might  have  been  embarrassing  ;  but  a  solitary  pedes- 
trian went  by,  and  he  was  so  richly  dressed  that  he  be- 
came an  object  of  engrossing  attention.  He  wore  a  long 
black  velvet  coat  decorated  with  silver  buttons,  yellow 
silk  breeches,  white  silk  hose,  and  carried  a  silver-hilted 
sword. 

"  That  is  some  grand  man,"  observed  Harold. 


THE  WRONG   DOOR.  171 

"  He  is  a  patroon  that  comes  to  New  Amsterdam  some- 
times,  though  1  don't  know  him." 

"  What  are  patroons  ?" 

"  My  father  has  told  me  something,  and  my  Uncle 
Pieter  still  more.  The  patroons,  when  the  country  was 
settled,  were  allowed  certain  rights  and  so  much  land  if 
they  would  plant  colonies  having  fifty  people— they 
mast  be  upward  of  fifteen  years  old,  too.  So  patroons, 
with  their  colonies  and  much  land,  became  small  directors 
really  ;  and  the  big  one,  Heer  Director  Stuyvesant, 
thinks  the  small  ones  have  too  much  power.  There  is 
one  in  Rensselayerswyck.  That  colony  and  the  Heer 
Director  don't  get  along  well  together.  That  colony  is 
up  the  river.  Hast  thou  ever  seen  it  ?' ' 

"  I  never  saw  it,"  said  Harold,  with  an  air  as  if  it 
were  his  greatest  misfortune  not  to  have  seen  Rens- 
selayerswyck. "  I  thank  thee.  1  never  knew  so  much 
before,"  he  added  in  a  tone  of  profound  humility,  ap- 
preciative of  this  great  privilege  of  sitting  at  the  feet  of 
Katryne  Schuyler. 

He  wanted  to  ask  her  to  tell  him  all  she  knew  about 
Captain  Van  Schenkel.  The  humble  scholar  thought 
perhaps  the  great  teacher  might  not  like  to  give  lessons 
on  this  subject,  and  possibly  she  might  say  something 
good  about  the  captain,  and  he  certainly  did  not  want  to 
hear  about  that.  But  the  dam  restraining  the  impetuous 
tide  of  desire  for  information  could  not  resist  the  press- 
ure upon  it,  and  it  gave  way  and  let  out,  not  a  question, 


172  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"   GABLES. 

but  the  assertion,  "  I  don't  like  that  Captain  Yan  Schen- 
kel  !" 

There  came  a  question  :  "  Is  he  a  patroon  ?" 

Katryne's  rich  voice  was  let  out  in  a  musical  laugh. 
"  Van  Schenkel  a  patroon  !  He  would  like  to  be  one, 
and  lord  it  over  everybody  ;  and  when  he  overtook  me 
Sunday  and  told  what  he  would  do  if  he  were  a  patroon, 
I  was  afraid  what  my  Lord  Patroon  Van  Schenkel  might 
do  to  me,  and  1  slipped  from  him  as  soon  as  I  could." 

"What  a  load  that  lifted  from  Harold's  shoulders  !  Not 
a  dog  was  barking  now,  and  Harold's  escort  seemed  un- 
justifiable. Two  drunken  sailors,  though,  accommodat- 
ingly reeled  into  the  open  space  around  the  water-gate. 

"  Don't  be  afraid  !"  Harold  said  protectingly.  "  See 
those  clouds  of  the  sunset !" 

They  looked  along  a  stretch  of  land  a  hundred  feet  wide. 
This,  when  the  wall  was  constructed,  had  been  left  as 
an  open  way,  a  parade  ground  for  troops.  Along  this 
progenitor  of  our  Wall  Street,  Katryne  looked  at  the  sun- 
set clouds  heaped  up  where  shoots  to-day  Trinity's  grace- 
ful spire,  clouds  that  were  a  great  vapor-army  in  glorious 
uniform  out  on  parade  in  the  western  sky.  Harold  was 
not  looking  west  or  east,  on  the  land  or  the  sky.  He 
was  watching  a  face  that  to  him  had  more  beauty  in  it 
than  a  thousand  New  Amsterdam  sunsets.  What  a 
complexion  she  had  !  It  had  the  purity  of  the  lily,  the 
delicacy  of  the  peach  bloom,  the — everything  beautiful. 
Her  voice,  too,  in  some  of  its  modulations  was  so  very 


THE   WKONG   DOOR.  173 

soft  and  sweet.  He  wished  his  mother  could  hear  that 
voice.  He  wanted  her  opinion  about  it.  Then  those 
eyelids  enclosed  pearls  ;  but  suddenly  an  emotion  of  sur- 
prise flushed  those  eyes.  Why  should  she  detain  this 
young  Englishman  ?  No  crowd  of  belligerents  could  be 
seen,  no  drunken  sailor,  and  nowhere  in  sight  was  there 
a  single  vicious  dog.  Besides,  close  at  hand  was  the 
place  where  her  errand  was  to  be  dispatched. 

"  Oh,  here  is  the  place  !  I  thank  thee,"  she  softly 
said,  and  slipped  away. 

Harold  gave  a  ^tately,  half -surprised  bow,  and  strode 
tavernward  sombrely. 

Katryne's  errand  was  soon  executed.  It  was  only  an 
inquiry  at  a  house  about  a  vessel's  master  that  Hans 
wanted  to  see,  and  then  she  appeared  again  on  the  street. 

She  stepped  a  few  paces  toward  the  water  before  she 
began  her  solitary  walk  home.  She  fastened  her  eyes  on 
East  River.  It  was  sleeping  in  glassy  beauty  at  the  base 
of  the  "  schceyinge. "  Beyond  the  river  was  humble 
little  Breuckelen,  fast  withdrawing  into  the  shadows  wait- 
ing to  blanket  it  and  tuck  it  up  for  the  night.  But  Ka- 
tryne  did  not  see  Breuckelen.  She  was  dreamily  think- 
ing of  the  river,  of  the  day  when  she  watched  its  drift 
and  thought  of  her  life,  coming  she  knew  not  whence 
and  going  she  knew  not  where.  Would  this  young  Eng- 
lishman, so  gallant  and  courteous,  have  anything  to  do 
with  the  drift  of  that  life  ?  She  had  often  longed  for  a 
brother.  In  this  late  walk  with  Harold  she  had  several 


174  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

times  imagined  that  he  was  a  brother  out  walking  with 
her  and  protecting  her.  What  noble  protection  !  Did 
she  really  want  him,  though,  for  a  brother  ?  Would  she 
not  like  to  have  him  as  some  one  nearer  ?  Suddenly 
something  dark  rose  up  behind  a  bush  at  the  right  !  It 
grew  to  right,  to  left.  Was  it  the  threatening,  scowling 
beginning  of  a  thunder  cloud  that  had  been  stealthily 
rolling  over  the  water  ?  Without  any  appreciation  of 
its  meaning,  Katryne  trembled  at  the  sight  oi  the  black- 
ness. It  took  the  form  of  a  man,  broad,  squat,  formid- 
able. Something  more  than  thunder  came  out  of  this 
kind  of  cloud  as  a  low  voice  rumbled  away.  Even  a 
bolt  seemed  to  strike  Katryne,  for  the  voice  of  Hans 
Schuyler  inquired  gloomily,  "  Katryne,  Katryne,  what 
hast  thou  done,  walking  and  talking  with  that  young 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

IN    SAVAGE   LAND   AGAIN. 

THOSE  savages  who  had  become  suddenly  aware  of  the 
proximity  of  human  beings  to  their  night  camp  on  the 
shore  of  North  River  listened  again  for  the  breathing 
that  was  the  sign  of  a  heavy  sleeper. 

Bang  !  came  the  sound  of  a  gun  fired  within  a  few 
feet  of  them.  They  sprang  up  as  if  they  had  been  shot, 
and  were  prepared  to  tumble  accordingly  ;  but  it  was 
not  necessary,  for  they  were  unhurt,  and  the  next  move 
was  toward  their  canoe.  They  sprang  into  it,  pushed 
off,  and  quickly  disappeared  in  the  shadow  of  a  bluff 
overhanging  the  river.  There  was  a  small  moon  in  the 
sky,  shedding  just  enough  light  to  show  what  a  dark  river 
was  running  to  the  sea,  and  what  dark  woods  bordered 
it.  It  showed,  too,  what  a  black  shadow  that  bluff  could 
throw.  A  step  was  now  audible. 

"  Well,"  ejaculated  Uncle  Pieter,  stepping  out  into 
the  open  space  vacated  by  the  savages,  "  my  gun  has  just 
sent  them  flying.  William's  snoring  woke  me,  and  then 
1  heard  them.  I  did  not  care  to  hit  them,  and  there 
they  go  round  that  point.  Good  !" 

He  was  here  joined  by  his  companion,   who  came 


176  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"   GABLES. 

scrambling  out  of  the  thicket,  rubbing  his  head,  looking 
up  at  the  moon,  glancing  down  at  the  water,  then  star- 
ing at  Pieter. 

"  What— what— is  this  ?"  he  asked.  "  Was  it  thy 
gun  ?" 

"Yes;  1  fired  the  gun." 

"  Eh— er— any  animal  ?" 

"  Yes,  two-legged  ones." 

"  What  is  thy  meaning  ?" 

"  I  was  lying  awake  and  I  heard  the  noise  of  a  canoe 
scraping  on  the  bank,  and  then  several  savages  came  up 
and  stretched  out  just  on  the  edge  of  the  woods.  They 
began  to  jabber  about  something,  and,  for  all  I  know, 
they  wanted  to  scalp  the  man  with  me,  and  1  frightened 
them  off." 

"  For  the  love  of  me,  say — will  they  come  again?" 

"  Not  till  morning  at  least." 

"  Had  we  better  stay  ?" 

"  We  won't  if  my  friend  may  not  wish  it.  I  don't 
think  they  will  pay  us  a  visit  again  ;  and  yet  it  would  be 
safest  to  watch." 

Uncle  Pieter's  companion  reflected  a  few  moments, 
and  said  :  "  Thou  art  right ;  and  we  will  hold  on  here. 
But  sit  down  and  I  will  tell  thee,  brother,  all  that  is  in 
my  heart.  1  want  to  tell  thee." 

The  two  men  sat  down  on  a  log  by  the  bank,  and  faced 
the  dark  river.  Pieter  van  Twiller's  matchlock  rested 
against  the  log.  As  the  two  men  talked,  the  voices 


IN"   SAVAGE   LAND   AGAIN.  177 

echoed  off  upon  the  water,  and  their  tones  mingled  with 
the  sound  of  the  drowsy  ripplings. 

"  Now,  I  will  tell  thee  why  I  am  in  the  wilderness, 
though  I  am  really  ashamed  to  confess  it.  I  am  lost, 
end  I  did  not  want  to  own  it,  but  strove  to  keep  it  to 
myself  as  long  as  I  could,"  said  William. 

"  Lost  !  That  is  not  the  worst  thing  that  could  hap- 
pen to  thee.  I  can  get  thee  back  somewhow,  so  never 
give  thyself  uneasiness  on  that  score." 

"  That  is  like  thine  own  kind  self.  1  will  tell  thee 
how  it  all  happened.  I  trade  in  furs  at  New  Amster- 
dam and  in  New  England  also,  and  wherever  I  can  find 
one  who  would  like  to  buy  or  sell.  I  am  known  at  New 
Amsterdam.  My  name  is  Robert  William  Wharton.  I 
gave  thee  my  middle  name,  and  now  thou  shalt  have  my 
full  name." 

"  It  is  a  good  name,"  Pieter  assured  him. 

"  Now  I  will  tell  thee  how  I  was  lost.  I  came  up  the 
river  in  a  vessel,  and  while  it  was  anchored  one  sunset,  I 
landed  only  for  a  stroll  into  the  forest,  taking  my  gun 
with  me,  and — and  I  got  lost  !  The  more  I  tramped,  the 
more  confused  I  was.  I  went  to  sleep  after  awhile,  and 
in  the  morning  began  to  search  again  for  North  River 
and  my  vessel  ;  but  neither  came  to  me,  and  I  could  not 
get  to  them.  I  verily  was  lost.  1  had  been  wandering 
about  for  several  days  when  I  saw  thee,  and  my  gun 
brought  me  game  each  day,  so  that  I  could  live.  When 
1  saw  thee  I  was  in  sore  trouble  ;  but  thou  didst  help  me 


178  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

out  of  it.  Now  I  am  ashamed  to  confess  that,  like  a 
boy,  I  got  lost  ;  but  it  is  a  fact,  and  I  was  loath  to  tell 
thee.  I  feel  like  a  fool  for  two  things  :  first,  for  get- 
ting lost,  and  then  because  I  was  too  proud  to  tell  thee. 
It  is  told  now,  and  my  brother  understands,  and  I  am  so 
glad  to  see  the  river." 

"  I  am  glad  my  brother  has  told  me  all,  and  I  under- 
stand his  pride.  I  have  a  lump  of  that  same  pride  in 
my  breast.  Now  I  take  it  that  the  sight  of  a  vessel 
would  do  thee  much  good." 

"  Yes,  and  I  shall  have  to  take  it ;  but  I  hate  to  lose 
a  good  companion. " 

"  My  loss  will  be  greater  ;  but  I  will  get  thee  back  to 
the  world.  Some  craft  will  be  going  by,  and  we  can 
hail  it.  I  have  good  lungs  and  so  hast  thou,  and  a  good 
cause  will  help  us.  Thy  way  is  up  river  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Yery  well ;  up  river  thou  shalt  go.  Now  that  1  re- 
call it,  1  saw  last  night  a  vessel  lying  at  anchor  round  a 
point  near  us,  and  we  can  watch  for  it  in  the  morning. 
I  am  glad  all  this  was  told  me  ;  and  now,  would  my 
brother  know  why  1  am  here  ?" 

"  Tell  me  if  thou  wilt." 

"  1  am  a  fugitive  from  New  Amsterdam,  and  1  left  it 
because  I  could  not  stay  there  a  man.  I  left  it  because 
1  could  not  trust  myself.  Drink  was  my  master.  I  was 
its  slave.  1  was  not  strong  enough  for  the  drinking- 
shops." 


IK  SAVAGE  LAND  AGAIN.  179 

"  They  are  a  curse." 

"  I  wish  New  Amsterdam  thought  so.  1  could  not 
face  temptation,  so  I  ran  from  it.  1  am  safe  from  it 
here.  Now  you  know  my  story. " 

11  Yes,  and  1  thank  thee  ;  and  God  give  the  victory  to 
my  friend.  1  shall  not  forget  thy  friendship  ever.  If  I 
had  not  found  thee  !  Ha  !  ha  !  That  I  must  put  an- 
other way.  If  1  had  not  come  upon  thee  and  tried  to 
shoot  thee  for  a  beast,  where  would  I  have  been  ?  I 
owe  thee  much.  Ugh  !  how  this  thing  troubles  me  !  I 
don't  mean  the  gun  I  have,  but  this  flask,  for  it  keeps 
falling  out  of  my  pocket." 

It  was  a  flask  of  liquor. 

"  Don't  think  I  shall  say  '  Drink  '  to  my  tempted 
friend." 

"  Oh,  no.     Heaven  save  me  !" 

"  I  only  take  it  into  the  wilderness  with  me  or  on  a 
voyage,  if  some  time  of  trouble  come  up." 

"  I  dare  not  stay  near  it,  now  I  know  it  is  there.  I 
pray  thee  forgive  me  if  1  get  on  the  side  opposite  the 
pocket  with  that  flask." 

"  No  harm  is  done,  no  harm  is  done  !  Sit  on  either 
side,  and  thou  wilt  find  a  friend." 

"  I  thank  thee,  for  I  need  a  friend  as  often  as  I  can 
find  one.  Now,  my  brother  goes  back  to  New  Amster- 
dam 2" 

"  No  ;  I  take  this  first  vessel  round  the  point  if  they 
will  take  me.  If  it  goes  down  the  river,  I  must  go  with 


180  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

it  even  to  New  Amsterdam  ;  but  I  hope  to  meet  some 
vessel  going  up  the  river,  and  then  I  can  finish  my  jour- 
ney to  Fort  Orange.  If  this  vessel  near  us  is  going  up 
the  river — " 

Pieter's  hand  upon  his  arm  detained  his  voice.  To 
be  left  alone  was  anything  but  agreeable  to  Pieter.  A 
sense  of  solitude  came  down  upon  him.  Nothingness 
oppressed  him.  A  vacuum  was  like  the  weight  of  tons. 
He  hated  to  be  left  alone  again. 

"  Brother,"  he  said,  "  1  started  for  the  Esopus,  but 
my  vessel  did  not  go  so  far.  I  landed,  thinking  I  might 
travel  through  the  woods,  for  I  am  an  old  gunner  and 
trapper,  and  anyway,  I  could  hail  some  vessel  going  up 
the  river.  I  have  found  none.  Now,  if  thy  vessel  goes 
up  to  Fort  Orange,  I  will  get  aboard.  I  cannot  bear  the 
solitude." 

"  Let  us  journey  together.  It  shall  be  so  with  all  my 
heart.  And  didst  thou  say  thou  hadst  been  tempted  ? 
Didst  thou  think  that  things  looked  black  ?  They  are 
brightening.  See  that  !" 

He  pointed  across  the  river.  Over  the  brow  of  a  hill 
on  the  other  shore  shone  the  morning  star,  fair  and  white 
like  a  snowdrop  borne  on  a  stem  whose  roots  were  sunk 
in  the  crest  of  the  hill. 

"The  morning  is  coming,"  said  Pieter.  "If  any 
soul  waits  for  a  new  day  with  eagerness,  it  is  Pieter  van 
T wilier.  There  is  a  young  woman  at  New  Amsterdam 
who  told  me  a  pretty  story  about  Hope  that  is  always 


IN"  SAVAGE   LAND   AGAIN.  181 

at  the  bottom  of  the  box.  I  must  tell  it  to  thee, 
brother." 

When  he  had  finished,  Robert  William  Wharton  said  : 
"  That  will  help  me  if  I  get  lost  in  the  forest  again.  A 
young  woman  told  it  ?" 

"  She  is  bright  as  she  is  beautiful.  She  told  me  to 
try  ;  and  she  cried  when  she  said  it — to  try — to  get  the 
better  of  my  temptation — she  meant  to  try  and  to  pray. 
I  am  doing  it,"  Pieter  said  soberly. 

The  faces  of  the  two  men  were  turned  toward 
that  fair  snowdrop  blooming  in  the  sky.  It  soon 
faded,  not  so  much  because  the  light  was  coming, 
but  clouds  were  gathering  in  the  east.  The  folds  of 
mist  so  thickened  that  they  finally  extinguished  any 
ardor  of  the  sun  in  trying  to  rise  above  the  hills. 
Clouds,  too,  had  gathered  in  the  north  and  occupied 
the  same  heavens  but  a  few  hours  ago  as  beautiful 
with  white  stars  as  any  summer  field  with  daisies. 
There  was  a  sound  of  the  rising  wind  in  the  forest, 
one  moment  lifting  wearily  the  leaves,  then  letting 
them  heavily  fall.  The  river,  so  still  and  glassy, 
now  began  to  shiver.  It  blackened  while  the  sky  con- 
tinued in  shadow. 

"  Hark  !"  said  Pieter. 

There  was  a  low,  heavy  growling  up  the  river,  the 
mutter  of  distant  but  nearing  thunder. 

"  Hark  !  Hendrik  Hudson  is  rolling  his  balls.  We 
are  going  to  have  a  lively  storm  while  it  lasts  ;  but  that 


182  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

vessel  may  start  in  this  wind.  We  will  hurry  and  catch 
it.  Koll  away,  Hendrik  !"  cried  Pieter. 

The  two  men  hurried  to  the  shore  nearest  the  vessel, 
whose  anchor  the  crew  were  weighing. 

"  Ship  ahoy  !"  shouted  Pieter.  "  Take  two  men 
aboard?" 

"  I  will  pay  you  well,"  added  Robert  Wharton. 

"  Aye,  aye  !"  was  the  ready  answer. 

A  boat  put  off  for  the  two  passengers. 

When  it  landed,  Pieter  asked,  "  Are  you  going  to 
Fort  Orange  ?" 

"  To  New  Amsterdam,"  was  the  reply. 

"Farewell,  my  brother,"  said  Pieter  to  Robert 
Wharton  sorrowfully. 

"  Oh,  come  aboard  !  I  may  get  a  chance  to  take  a 
vessel  for  Fort  Orange,  and  leave  thee  at  the  Esopus — " 

"And  1  may  be  obliged  to  go  to  New  Amsterdam, 
which  is  not  my  helper  now.  Farewell !" 

"Farewell,  brother!"  cried  Robert  Wharton.  He 
paused ;  he  cried  again,  "  Oh,  what  is  the  name  of  the 
young  vrouw  who  told  thee  about  Hope  ?" 

"  Katryne  Schuyler." 

"  Did  he  say  '  Katryne  Schuyler  '  ?' '  wondered  Robert 
Wharton.  "  I  must  tell  my  nephew  when  he  comes." 

Desolation  entered  the  soul  of  Pieter  van  Twiller  as 
he  stood  alone  upon  the  bank.  Before  him  was  a  black- 
ening river  ;  above  was  a  sky  rough  with  storm-clouds  ; 
behind  him,  about  him  was  a  wilderness  opening  as  if  to 


IN   SAVAGE  LAND   AGAIN.  183 

swallow  him  up.  So  lonely  was  the  soul  of  Pieter ! 
Gusts  of  wind  drove  at  him,  as  if  to  force  back  into  the 
wilderness  this  refuse  of  civilization,  this  castaway,  this 
despised  of  men.  The  vessel  was  going  out  of  sight  as 
it  turned  a  point,  and  in  the  stern  stood  Robert  Whar- 
ton,  waving  his  hand.  Another  minute  Pieter  saw  only 
a  black  atmosphere  extending  across  the  roughened  river. 
In  that  moment  the  box  of  Pandora,  that  "  poor  little 
girl,"  did  not  seem  to  hold  even  Hope  at  the  bottom. 

He  shrank  into  the  hollow  of  a  pine  to  wait  for  the 
passage  of  the  storm.  Little  rain  fell,  and  he  soon 
stepped  out  from  his  retreat  and  went  to  the  spot  where 
he  and  his  "  brother"  had  had  their  late  conference. 

"  Ah  !"  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  "  a  bottle  !  Why, 
it's  that  flask,  and  it  fell  out  of  William's  pocket. 
Well,  let  it  lie  there.  No,  I  must  pick  it  up — it  is 
William's  property — no,  I  dare  not.  Why,  I  thought 
it  was  all  settled,  and  I  was  to  have  no  more  tempta- 
tion !  Can  I  not  escape  ?" 

No ;  the  flask  down  in  the  grass  tempted  him.  If  a 
snake's  eye  had  been  set  in  the  mouth  of  the  flask,  and  if 
Pieter  had  been  a  little  bird,  the  fascination  could  not 
have  been  stronger. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  Pieter  began  to  inquire.  Brandy  from 
France,  gin  from  Holland,  beer  from  New  Amsterdam  ? 
The  little  bird  began  to  move  toward  the  snake's  eye. 
How  helpless  was  poor  Pieter  ! 

Why,  he  thought  he  was  beyond  temptation  here  in 


184  BEHIND    MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

the  wilderness,  and  now  it  was  just  before  him.  The 
temptation  of  a  whole  drinking-shop  of  New  Amsterdam 
seemed  to  be  concentrated  in  that  glittering  snake's  eye, 
and  it  was  coming  toward  him,  or  was  he  going  toward 
it  ?  Certainly  there  was  not  a  greater  distance  than  fif- 
teen feet  between  him  and  the  flask  one  moment,  and 
the  next  moment  it  had  lessened  to  twelve. 

"  If  thou  drinkest  what  is  in  that  flask,  Pieter,  thou 
wilt  set  on  fire  a  thirst  that  will  compel  thee  to  hunt  for 
long  miles  that  thou  mayest  find  another  dram  at  the 
wigwam  of  a  savage  or  in  the  cabin  of  a  vessel,"  a  voice 
said  to  him. 

Still  he  went  on. 

Nine  feet  now,  and  that  snake's  eye  ?  Why,  it  had 
flashed  into  two  eyes,  and  horns  were  above  them,  and  a 
wicked,  pitiless  smile  was  below  them,  and  farther  down 
would  be  found  hoofs,  and  the  forked  tail  of  the  Evil 
One  somewhere  ! 

Run,  Pieter,  run  ! 

Three  feet  now  ! 

Where  was  his  regard  for  his  dear  Kaatje  ?  He 
stopped  and  thought. 

"  Where  is  my  regard  for  her  ?  I  promised  once  to 
'  taper  off,'  and  what  became  of  my  promise  ?  Oh,  it  is 
of  no  use  !  There  is  no  Hope  at  the  bottom  of  the  box." 

He  took  another  step. 

But  where  were  those  prayers  Pieter  had  been  putting 
up  so  earnestly  of  late  ?  Had  God  no  answer  for  them  ? 


IN   SAVAGE   LAND   AGAIN.  185 

One  foot  now  ! 

Oh,  the  thirst  of  a  furnace  like  that  in  some  material- 
istic doctrine  of  hell  was  burning  in  Pieter,  and  all  his 
good  resolutions  were  like  straw  in  this  flame,  and  he 
said  he  must  stop  the  raging  fire,  he  must  quench  it,  and 
he  was  reaching  his  hand  down  to  seize  that  flask  when 
shrill  and  piercing  over  the  water  rang  out  a  savage  war 
whoop  !  Pieter  looked  off  upon  the  river.  A  canoe 
was  swiftly  advancing,  two  savages  paddling  it. 

"  God  keep  me  from  the  savage  without  and  the  sav- 
age within  me  !"  solemnly  pleaded  Pieter,  looking  up. 
He  turned  from  the  flask  deliberately.  Then  he  sped 
for  his  gun  and  for  the  shadow  of  the  forest. 

An  arrow  that  struck  a  tree  just  as  he  slipped  behind 
it  showed  how  narrow  his  escape  had  been. 

Pieter  was  a  man  about  fifty,  but  quick  and  nimble  as 
a  squirrel.  He  sprang  up  a  tree  with  a  bushy  top,  pull- 
ing his  gun  after  him.  He  secreted  himself  amid  the 
leafy  branches,  and  looked  down  through  loopholes  in  the 
foliage. 

Soon  he  heard  the  savages  searching  below.  They 
could  see  no  satisfactory  trace  of  him.  He  looked  down 
and  saw  them.  He  was  all  nerve,  cool,  keen,  ready. 
His  aim  was  unerring. 

"  I  might  shoot  them  both,"  he  said.  "  Shall  I  ? 
No  ;  I  will  not  kill  unless  it  is  really  necessary.  I  did 
not  come  here  to  take  life,  but  just  to  protect  it  when  in 
danger.  Wait,  Pieter  !" 


186  BEHIND   MANHATTAN  GABLES. 

He  waited,  the  old  hunter,  all  his  powers  controlled 
by  that  strong  brain  above,  in  the  watch-tower  now, 
vigilant,  masterful. 

The  savages  found  not  the  human  booty  they  had  in 
mind,  but  they  found  a  flask  of  brandy,  and  in  great 
glee  they  carried  it  to  their  canoe,  and  Pieter  saw  them 
moving  off,  alternately  paddling  and  brandy-gulping. 

Then  the  hunter  came  down  from  his  watch-tower. 
The  excitement  of  the  hour,  though,  was  over.  His 
nerves  were  unstrung.  He  dropped  carelessly  from 
branch  to  branch.  From  the  last  branch  he  almost  tum- 
bled in  a  heap,  his  gun  pitching  after  him. 

There  he  lay  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  beads  of  perspira- 
tion on  his  brow,  weak  and  helpless  as  a  child,  bewil- 
dered with  a  sense  of  his  narrow  escape  both  in  body  and 
soul,  poor  Pieter  in  the  wilderness,  going  to  fight  sav- 
ages and  yet  carrying  a  savage  in  his  appetite  !  Was 
Pandora's  Hope  at  the  bottom  of  the  box  now  ?  In  his 
weariness  he  fell  asleep,  and  the  goodness  of  God  guard- 
ed him. 


AN   ARROW   STRUCK  THE   TREE."      (Page  185.) 


CHAPTER  XY. 

WHAT     COULD     HE     DO? 

NEW  AMSTERDAM  in  general  and  Harold  Wharton  in 
particular  were  in  a  nutter.  That  flutter  was  felt  along 
the  canal  and  on  the  bridge  crossing  it,  in  the  fort  and 
the  homes  clinging  to  it  and  in  those  that  did  not  cling  to 
it.  The  time  of  day  was  sunset,  for  the  sun,  sullen  and 
clouded,  was  sinking  down  the  disturbed  skies  above 
Pavonia.  Three  ships,  with  their  high,  imposing  sterns, 
had  halted  off  New  Amsterdam,  each  in  a  leisurely  way 
dropping  anchor  and  furling  sail.  Budgets  of  letters  had 
been  sent  ashore,  and  more  than  one  dealer  in  furs  anx- 
iously wished  to  know  if  the  market  over  seas  were 
favorable. 

Harold  Wharton  was  more  excited  than  any  one  else 
— so  it  seemed  to  him— for  the  largest  was  an  English 
vessel,  and  might  it  not  bring  long-expected  letters 
from  home  ?  Was  his  mother  well  ?  His  money  had 
almost  entirely  dwindled  away,  and  how  would  he  get 
any  more  ?  With  trembling  hands  he  opened  the  bulkier 
of  two  letters  handed  him  as  his  share  of  the  letter-cargo. 
It  detailed  his  mother's  last  illness  and  death  !  The  sec- 


188  BEHIND    MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

ond  told  him  that  any  property  belonging  to  Harold's 
family  had  melted  away  in  the  heat  of  a  great  fire. 

The  two  letters  were  from  Abrain  Tillotson,  who 
had  been  entrusted  with  the  management  of  the  Whar- 
ton  financial  interests  in  England.  The  letter  announc- 
ing Mrs.  Wharton's  death  was  in  a  cool,  business-liko 
tone,  as  if  stating  without  any  feeling  the  details  of  a 
bad  investment.  The  second  was  as  cold,  though  on  a 
warm  topic,  and  proceeded  to  say,  "  I  wish  to  state  that 
two  days  after  your  mother's  death  a  fire  in  London  re- 
duced to  ashes  several  buildings  she  owned  in  that  city. 
Money  that  had  come  in  from  the  London  property  I 
had  laid  out  in  repairs,  yet  thought  soon  to  send  you 
some  rentals,  but  houses  are  now  ashes,  and  ashes  you  do 
not  wish  to  receive.  The  home  estate  I  must  sell  to  pay 
debts  against  it.  As  for  the  future,  I  would  not  advise 
you  to  return  here,  but  find  employment  in  America. 
You  would  come  home  to  nothing,  and  as  a  pauper 
would  be  cared  for.  We  do  not  like  to  care  for  nobo- 
dies. Your  mother  did  not  want  anything  in  her  last 
illness,  as  I  advanced  her  money  to  meet  every  want. 
I  must  look  to  the  estate  for  my  pay— that  is,  when  it  is 
sold." 

"  Sold  !  that  beautiful  home  !"  murmured  Harold. 
"  Everything  to  go  for  debts  !" 

When  he  read  the  signature  to  each  letter,  "  Abram 
Tillotson,"  written  in  very  twisted  form,  it  looked  much 
like  a  snake  that  had  started  to  writhe  across  the  page. 


WHAT   COULD   HE    DO?  189 

If  Harold  had  received  by  the  vessel  coming  across  the 
sea  two  slabs  of  ice,  they  would  have  conveyed  as  much 
sympathy  as  those  two  sheets  of  paper. 

His  mother  dead  and  he  a  pauper,  and  he  had  better 
not  return  to  England  to  be  a  beneficiary  there  !  That 
was  the  real  situation,  then  ;  and  here  he  had  been  liv- 
ing in  New  Amsterdam  all  this  time,  looking  forward  to 
a  position  of  ease  and  competence  when  his  Uncle  Rob- 
ert might  turn  up,  and  then  some  day,  if  remaining  in 
America,  he  could  invite  his  mother  to  a  home  of  com- 
fort, and  Nurse  Martin  was  also  coming  to  care  for 
her! 

No,  she  was  not  coming.  His  mother  was  dead. 
Uncle  Robert  was — nobody  knew  where.  George  Mar- 
tin he  had  seen  a  little  while,  and  then  he  had  vanished 
from  a  tavern  door  as  if  swept  away  by  a  whirlwind. 

Harold's  stay  in  New  Amsterdam,  then,  had  all  ended 
in  this — a  pauper  reading  those  two  letters  !  What  a 
life  of  mockery  he  had  been  living  in  this  new  world — 
his  appearance  that  of  a  gentleman  and  his  real  situation 
that  of  a  mendicant  !  He  had  been  blowing  rose-tinged 
bubbles,  and  now  they  were  all  bursting  !  Life  was  just 
a  sarcasm.  His  part  in  it  was  a  farce.  Existence  was 
empty  of  meaning  or  profit. 

Bewildered,  he  walked  about  the  odd  little  seaport 
town.  The  dull  sky  over  Pavonia  had  blackened  into  a 
thunder-cloud.  A  fat  soldier  strutting  by  the  fort  gate 
looked  so  stupid,  about  as  effective  as  an  animated  bale 


190  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

of  straw.  The  fort  itself  seemed  like  a  clay  heap  tnat 
would  collapse  in  the  storm  coming,  and  the  threatening 
cannon  would  in  the  rain  rust  away  into  useless  old  junk. 

There  was  De  Heeren  Graft,  with  its  black  ditch — 
"yes,  ditch,  and  a  dirty  one,"  he  muttered,  sauntering 
along.  The  barges  in  it  looked  like  coffins  afloat,  and 
the  few  sailors  he  saw  were  undertakers  about  to  conduct 
these  coffins  in  a  dismal  funeral  procession.  Could  they 
give  a  pauper  any  employment  ?  His  mother  dead  ! 
Hark  !  As  he  walked  on  he  heard  a  windmill,  that  with 
its  vanes  was  beating  the  air  as  if  a  threshing-floor  were 
there  ;  and  what  a  hard,  rusty  noise  it  made — a  dull, 
heavy  clang— clang — clang  !  a  noise  that  was  a  pro- 
longed groan — groan — groan  ! 

The  storm-cloud  was  now  coming  nearer.  Hendrik 
Hudson  was  rolling  his  ponderous  balls  over  Hoboken 
and  Pavonia  and  across  North  River  at  a  frightful  rate, 
and  the  wind-blown  coals  of  his  fiery  pipe  flashed  in 
sharper  and  sharper  lightning. 

Harold  went  to  his  room  in  the  tavern  and  sat  down 
by  a  window  looking  toward  iNorth  River.  "What  was 
to  be  done  ?  He  could  not  go  to  England.  He  had  no 
money  with  which  to  pay  a  passage,  and  no  experience 
with  which  to  earn  one.  To  go  up  the  ship's  rigging — 
what  did  they  call  each  part  ?  To  furl  sails — what  were 
their  names  ?  He  could  do  nothing  on  board  ship.  He 
must  stay  in  New  Amsterdam.  What  would  he  do  ? 
Rather,  what  could  he  do  ? 


WHAT   COULD   HE   DO?  191 

This  last  question  struck  him  with  peculiar  force. 
He  had  never  before  thought  seriously  upon  the  subject. 
There  had  been  no  demand  for  thought.  Things  had 
been  done  for  him  rather  than  by  him.  It  was  not  nec- 
essary that  he  should  do  anything.  Without  cost  his 
bread  had  been  baked  for  him,  and  with  the  bread  came 
the  butter  for  it.  While  his  mother's  money  had  cared 
for  him  in  the  past,  he  had  not  worried  about  the  future. 
Uncle  Robert's  money  would  fill  up  any  deficiency  in 
the  future.  And  to-day  everything  had  been  swept 
away  like  a  sand-house  by  the  tide  rushing  up  the  beach  ! 
And  now  this  question  sent  through  him  such  a  chill  : 
What  could  he  really  do  whereby  to  earn  a  living  ?  Could 
he  build  a  house  of  wood,  or  lay  bricks  ?  Could  he  serve  in 
a  profession  and  be  a  doctor  and  administer  pills  ?  Could 
he  trade  in  a  store  ?  Could  he  teach  ?  Could  he  take 
care  of  a  farm,  or  make  cloth  ?  He  could  eat  what  came 
from  a  farm  and  he  could  wear  the  cloth  that  another 
had  woven.  He  had  dressed  well.  His  appetite  for  the 
substantial  tavern -dinners  had  never  failed  him.  With 
his  mother's  money  he  had  paid  the  bills  due.  He  was 
known  at  the  tavern  as  "  that  young  English  gentle- 
man." What  could  "  that  young  English  gentleman" 
do,  though,  to  earn  his  dinners  ?  Here  he  stopped  ask- 
ing questions.  He  saw  as  never  before  that  ability  to  do 
something  is  the  capital  from  which  to  expect  lasting 
investments.  He  who  can  do  something,  who  can  work 
out  any  result,  has  resources  on  which  he  can  surely  rely. 


192  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

Brains  and  knowledge  and  industry  are  the  only  satisfac- 
tory, sure  possessions  in  the  world. 

All  the  while  that  Harold  Wharton  was  supposed  to 
have  property,  he  had  none  !  He  had  not  really  been  able 
to  do  anything  ;  and  he,  his  mother's  heir,  was  worth — 
nothing.  Why  hadn't  he  thought  of  this  before,  and 
anticipated  such  an  hour  ? 

"  Fool !  fool  !  fool !"  he  called  himself. 

It  was  raining  now,  raining  heavily  on  New  Amster- 
dam, while  Hendrik  Hudson  was  rolling  still  heavier 
balls,  and  his  pipe-flashes  were  more  intense. 

Harold  turned  away  from  the  window.  He  looked 
into  the  depths  of  his  retirement  in  that  room  fast  grow- 
ing darker.  His  mother  dead  !  His  mother,  the  moth- 
er who  used  to  pray  for  him  and  with  him  !  Why,  he 
seemed  to  hear  her  voice  just  as  he  had  heard  it  in  the 
old  parish  church  in  England,  making  its  reverent  re- 
sponses in  the  service-hour.  He  always  thought  she  had 
a  clear,  sweet,  musical  voice.  He  remembered,  this 
wild  evening,  how  on  stormy  days  he  had  at  church 
heard  the  wind  wail  about  the  windows,  and  then  across 
the  bent  stones  in  the  old  churchyard  angry  flurries  of 
storm  would  come  at  the  panes  and  moan  there  as  if  sud- 
denly penitent.  Through  it  all,  like  a  gentle  strain  of 
music,  wound  the  tones  of  his  mother's  voice  praying. 

She  had  said  that  her  prayers  would  follow  him,  and 
were  they  not  following  him  now?  Perhaps  they 
reached  into  his  present  isolation,  bringing  God  near. 


WHAT   COULD   HE   DO?  193 

He  had  never  given  thought  of  a  special,  serious  kind  to 
this  subject — God's  nearness.  God  and  a  divine  care 
had  been  things  looked  at  rather  than  a  truth  received 
within  the  very  soul.  He  had  kept  this  subject  outside 
the  door,  rather  a  matter  respected  but  not  fully  wel- 
comed. To-night  he  felt  very  lonely.  He  wondered  if 
anybody  in  New  Amsterdam  or  in  all  that  neighborhood 
felt  more  alone — any  savage  from  the  wilderness,  prowl- 
ing along  outside  the  wall  ;  any  homeless  sailor  in  a 
barge  in  the  canal  ;  any  prodigal  turned  out  of  the 
tap-rooms  ;  anybody  in  a  frightened  little  boat  blown 
down  the  bay  in  this  wild,  wild  storm,  and  then  out  on 
the  dark  sea  ! 

So  lonely  ! 

How  it  did  thunder  !  How  it  did  lighten  !  And  the 
rain  poured  as  if  North  River  and  East  River  had  been 
sucked  up  into  the  sky  and  then  were  dropped  again  in  a 


Into  his  loneliness  still  glided  the  thought  of  that 
mother.  It  was  a  footstep  so  gentle.  Her  footfall  was 
never  rough  and  noisy.  The  dead  mother  came  now  just 
as  softly.  She  laid  her  tender  hand  on  the  bowed  head 
of  her  lonely  boy,  and  she  seemed  to  be  pointing  at  some- 
thing. Suddenly  he  saw  a  picture.  In  the  old  church 
at  home,  wrought  in  glass,  tinged  as  by  a  sunset,  was 
the  scene  of  Christ  walking  on  the  sea.  He  was  holding 
out  a  hand  to  the  sinking  Peter. 

When  in  America  had  Harold  thought  of  that  particu- 


194  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

lar  window  before  ?  He  saw  it  now  as  he  thought  of 
his  mother  and  her  prayers. 

What  could  he  do  in  life  ?  What  could  he  do  now  or 
at  any  time  ? 

He  could  do  this  :  like  Peter  of  old,  he  could  take  hold 
of  that  outstretched  hand.  It  was  the  first  thing  to  be 
done.  He  was  starting  out  in  a  new  land,  his  real  self 
starting  in  a  real  life.  It  was  not  Harold  Wharton  the 
heir,  and  leading  a  life  that  was  a  pretense,  but  Harold 
Wharton  the  empty-handed,  and  going  out  to  a  real  life. 
He  must  start  now. 

"Yes,  now!"  the  mother  seemed  gently  to  plead, 
pointing  at  the  outstretched  hand  of  the  Saviour. 

Would  not  her  boy  cling  and  trust  now  ?  He  fell 
upon  his  knees. 

That  night  he  touched  God,  and  he  never  fell  back 
from  that  touch.  It  was  destined  to  make  a  wonderful 
change  in  Harold's  life.  He  lay  down  to  rest. 

The  thunder  had  rolled  away.  The  lightning  had 
ceased  to  flash.  There  was  only  the  sound  of  the  rain, 
that  steadily,  not  violently,  dripped,  dripped.  After  a 
while  there  was  a  lighter  fall.  It  had  a  drowsy,  musical 
sound.  The  sweet  voice  of  Harold's  mother  echoed  in 
the  gentle  fall.  This  sound  of  the  rain  quieted  him. 
It  stilled  him  into  slumber.  He  slept.  His  mother 
watched. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

GEERTBUYD. 

GEERTRTTYD  SMIDT  was  spinning  in  the  kitchen. 
Whirr-r-r-r  ! 

That  Dutch  kitchen  was  very  dear  to  Geertruyd,  who, 
since  her  mother's  death  three  years  ago,  had  been  her 
father's  housekeeper.  Her  ally  was  Betje,*  an  old  slave 
who  thought  she  was  a  Quaker  mostly  because  she  did 
not  know  what  a  Quaker  was.  Geertruyd  and  Betje  kept 
the  kitchen  very  neat. 

The  parlor  was  something  very  separate  and  sacred,  as 
if  one  stepping  into  its  shadowy  atmosphere  might  expect 
to  find  there  a  row  of  idols  in  silver  shrines.  There  was 
nothing  in  the  parlor  more  sacred  than  a  line  of  chairs 
bottomed  with  Russia  leather  secured  by  brass-headed 
tacks.  These  chairs  were  set  against  the  wall  as  stiffly 
as  if  frozen  to  it. 

1  am  omitting,  though,  a  round  tea-table,  and  the 
beaming  portrait  of  some  far-off  ancestor  above  the  table. 
Geertruyd  thought  that  he  smiled  in  approbation  of  the 
fine  sand-designs  on  the  well-scrubbed  floor. 

The  kitchen  was  a  very  different  spot.     It  was  the 

*  Our  Betty. 


196  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"   GABLES. 

living  room.  It  had  some  individuality.  Geertruyd  had 
left  here  and  there  touches  of  her  housewifely  interest  in 
this  particular  room.  Across  the  lower  half  of  each 
window  ran  a  curtain  of  bright  red  chintz,  a  pet  color 
with  Geertruyd.  On  the  walls  were  pictures  of  unreal 
war- vessels  on  impossible  seas,  fighting  all  sorts  of  imag- 
inary naval  battles.  These  battles  had  been  going  on 
many  years.  They  bade  fair  to  outlive  the  walls  from 
which  they  were  suspended.  In  the  centre  of  the  room 
was  the  heavy,  square  table  of  pine,  at  which  the  family 
sat  two  hours  ago  when  reminded  to  do  this  by  "  the  noon- 
mark."  This  "  noon-mark"  was  one  of  the  divisions  of 
the  sun's  celestial  travels,  watched  and  recorded  by  the 
sun-dial  on  the  window-ledge.  The  floor  had  been 
freshly  sanded,  and  Gcertruyd's  dexterous  broom  had 
whisked  the  sand  into  various  ingenious  figures  found 
neither  in  nature  nor  books.  The  most  imposing  fea- 
ture in  the  room  was  the  fireplace,  so  large  that  it  looked 
as  if  New  Amsterdam's  schout,  its  burgomasters,  and  all 
its  schepens  could  have  sat  there  in  a  row  and  been 
roasted  in  company.  It  had  its  equipment  of  hooks 
and  trammels,  shovels  and  pots.  There  was  a  kettle  of 
soup  even  now  suspended  over  the  fire,  gently  simmering 
away,  dreaming  of  the  time  when  its  contents,  duly  put 
together,  were  bounding  in  the  shape  of  a  kid  over  the 
fields  of  Manhattan. 

Another  interesting  item  was  Geertruyd's  spinning- 
wheel  ;  but  an  attraction  exceeding  anything  in  the  room 


GEEETKUYD.  197 

was  Geertruyd  herself.  She  was  Katrjne  Schuyler's 
bosom  friend.  They  were  New  Amsterdam's  prettiest 
maidens.  Katryne  was  fair  and  dark-eyed  ;  Geertruyd  was 
fair  and  blue-eyed.  They  were  as  unlike  in  character. 
Katryne  was  impetuous,  enthusiastic,  fond  of  adventure, 
ever  seeking  some  expression  of  her  feelings  in  the 
activities  of  life,  and  very  lovable  withal.  Geertruyd  was 
deliberate,  quiet,  a  stay-at-home  body,  shrinking  from  the 
outside  world,  and  also  a  very  lovable  body.  Though  so 
very  dissimilar,  they  agreed  perfectly  in  two  things  :  to 
disagree  with  sweetness  where  they  could  not  agree  in 
sentiment,  and  to  love  one  another  intensely. 

Geertruyd  was  spinning  the  afternoon  of  this  chapter, 
and  with  more  than  usual  eagerness.  Like  other  Dutch 
maidens,  she  had  been  trained  to  keep  marriage  in  view, 
and  to  believe  that  every  Dutch  bride  should  have  in 
readiness  suitable  arid  ample  store  of  white  goods.  To 
ensure  variety  and  quantity,  there  must  be  timely  activ- 
ity. Marriage  ?  Whom  would  Geertruyd  marry  ?  Thus 
far  she  had  seen  nobody  that  she  wanted  to  marry,  she 
affirmed,  except  Katryne  Schuyler,  and  Katryne  former- 
ly had  often  hotly  declared  that  Geertruyd  was  her  only 
choice.  Recently,  for  some  reason,  Katryne  had  been 
silent  on  the  subject.  Why  silent,  Geertruyd  could  not 
say.  Had  Katryne  seen  any  masculine  adorable  that  she 
preferred  to  Geertruyd  ?  If  so,  it  was  time  that  Geertruyd 
was  stirring  in  the  matter  for  herself.  And  this  after- 
noon, as  stout  Betje  had  waddled  off  to  a  gathering  of 


198  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

colored  friends  on  De  Heeren  Straat,  and  as  her  father, 
Adam  Smidt,  was  absent  on  a  lengthy  errand  about  some 
beaver  skins,  Geertruyd,  in  this  freedom  from  all  observ- 
ers, had  resolved  to  put  on  her  finery,  make  believe  that 
she  was  a  bride,  and  see  if  her  husband  would  appear. 
Of  course,  it  would  not  be  actually  a  wedding  dress,  but 
it  would  do  no  harm  to  imagine  it  as  that,  and  some 
Dutch  fairy  might  happen  along  to  give  it  a  hymeneal 
fitness.  Such  a  fanciful  mood  was  wholly  unlike  the 
quiet  and  conventional  Geertruyd,  but  then  the  most 
sedate  and  regular  people  may  do  the  most  irregular 
things.  Geertruyd  intended  to  keep  all  the  above  a 
secret.  No  one  should  know  it.  She  would  not  con- 
fess it  even  to  her  husband,  if  he  should  happen  along. 
Unusually  dressed,  then,  for  this  unusual  and  secret  pur- 
pose, she  sat  down  to  spin.  In  what  a  radiant  dress  she 
was  arrayed  !  A  close-fitting  cap  of  white  muslin  covered 
her  light-brown  hair,  neatly  brushed  back  from  her  fore- 
head. The  collar  that  enclosed  her  fair  neck  was  as 
snowy  as  her  cap.  She  wore  a  jacket  of  blue  silk,  and 
there  shone  in  her  bosom  a  brooch  of  twisted  gold.  Her 
skirt  of  red  silk  parted  to  show  the  most  ingeniously 
quilted  petticoat  of  golden  yellow  satin.  Her  worsted 
stockings,  knit  by  Geertruyd  the  long  evenings  of  the 
previous  winter,  were  of  yellow,  to  match  her  petticoat. 
Her  small  and  symmetrical  feet  were  slipped  into  dainty 
high-heeled  shoes.  Ah  !  I  could  not  catch  in  any  de- 
scription the  flash  of  the  bright  gold  rings  on  her  fingers, 


GEERTKUYD.  199 

and  of  a  string  of  gold  beads  around  her  neck.  She  had 
taken  one  inquisitive  look  in  the  glass,  and  then,  blush- 
ing and  frightened,  she  ran  to  every  outer  door  and 
closed  it  and  firmly  bolted  it.  For  what  if  her  husband 
might  really  come  !  He  never  should  get  in.  She  was 
determined  on  that.  But  ah  !  what  if  he  should  look  in 
at  a  window  ?  Never  !  She  pulled  each  curtain  care- 
fully across  the  little  panes  that  had  come  all  the  way 
over  the  tossing  sea  from  old  Amsterdam  to  this  minia- 
ture city.  Than,  blushing  most  fascinatingly,  she  sat 
down  to  her  task,  her  heart  seeming  to  trip  away  so  fast 
that  not  even  her  spinning-wheel  could  overtake  it. 

Whirr-r-r-r  ! 

As  she  spun  away,  this  member  in  our  breast  which 
we  cannot  get  along  without,  and  yet  cannot  always  get 
along  comfortably  with,  by  degrees  was  quiet.  The  blood 
left  her  checks,  and  just  a  faint  flush  was  there  to  suggest 
the  rare  shades  hid  in  the  depths  of  flower-cups,  or  se- 
creted in  shells  of  the  sea,  or  lingering  in  the  last  shades 
of  the  sunset.  She  was  only  Geertruyd  Smidt,  house- 
keeper for  Adam  Smidt,  a  single  young  woman,  with- 
out ambitious  matrimonial  projects.  Not  the  mar- 
riages made  in  heaven,  but  things  on  the  earth,  prosy, 
daily,  domestic,  engaged  her  thoughts.  She  mused 
upon  the  house  she  lived  in,  the  houses  in  the  neighbor- 
hood that  others  lived  in,  and  New  Amsterdam  in  gen- 
eral. She  had  seen  Breuckelen.  With  her  father  she 
had  ridden  in  the  lumbering  family-ark  as  far  as  New 


200  liEHIND   HA^HATTAH   GABLES. 

Haerlem,  but  that  was  a  nobody  kind  of  a  town.  Great 
was  New  Amsterdam  !  Her  father  had  carefully  de- 
scribed to  her  several  Dutch  hamlets  in  New  Nether- 
land,  and  several  villages  settled  by  the  troublesome, 
inquisitive,  aggressive  New  Englanders.  She  had  his 
word  for  it  that  none  could  compare  with  their  New 
Amsterdam.  She  herself  believed  that  this  metropolis 
of  New  Netherland  had  attractions  by  way  of  houses  that 
probably  could  not  be  equalled  anywhere  on  this  side  the 
sea.  She  had  had  glimpses  only,  but  in  a  few  quick  glances 
you  can  see  enough  to  fill  a  gallery  lasting  ever.  There 
were  in  New  Amsterdam  houses  through  which  from 
door  to  door  stretched  an  imposing  hall.  In  these  man- 
sions one  saw  rich,  heavy  furniture,  antique  cabinets  and 
chairs,  and  tables  that  at  banquets  shone  with  ostentatious 
pieces  of  silver  plate.  From  the  walls  pompous  ancestral 
portraits  looked  down,  also  large  mirrors  in  two  plates, 
the  upper  adorned  with  gilt  and  flowers.  In  the  cham- 
bers could  be  found  portly  bedsteads,  four-posted,  fur- 
nished each  with  rich  canopy  and  elaborate  valance. 
Yes,  New  Amsterdam  had  its  fine  houses.  This  must 
be,  then,  the  biggest,  most  glorious  place  the  sun  shone 
upon — at  least  the  western  sun. 

Her  spinning-wheel  now  turned  vigorously — whirr-r- 
r-r  !  whirr-r-r-r  ! — and  the  yarn  lengthened  rapidly.  She 
felt  that  she  ought  to  be  a  very  grateful  young  woman. 
How  comfortable  was  her  home  !  She  had  heard  her 
grandfather  tell  about  the  houses  that  many  of  the  peo- 


GEERTRTJYD.  201 

pie  lived  in  when  New  Amsterdam  was  first  settled — 
just  one  story  in  height,  with  chimneys  of  wood,  their 
roofs  thatched  with  straw  and  reeds.  Geertruyd  lived  in 
a  building  of  brick  made  in  New  Amsterdam,  and  hav- 
ing, therefore,  for  Geertruyd  a  peculiar  virtue.  The 
gable  ends  were  of  black  and  yellow  brick,  and,  like 
those  of  other  houses  already  described,  suggested 
checker-boards,  across  which  any  time  Adam  Smidt  and 
his  beloved  Geertruyd,  mounted  on  long  ladders,  might  set 
the  checkers  to  moving  at  a  lively  rate.  The  birth-year 
of  the  house  was  ostentatiously  set  in  figures  of  iron  into 
the  walls.  Above  all  was  as  ambitious  a  weather-cock 
as  ever  pretended  to  wind  his  clarion  in  clearest,  bright- 
est tones  at  early  dawn,  and  yet  never  struck  a  note. 
What  an  honored  house  to  support  such  a  noble 
bird! 

Yes,  New  Amsterdam  had  some  very  nice,  comfortable 
homes.  It  was  the  best  place  to  live  in  that  Geertruyd 
had  ever  seen,  or  that  she  had  ever  heard  of  in  all  the 
world. 

Whirr-r-r-r  ! 

All  the  world  ? 

Yes  ;  and  all  the  world  was  coming,  little  by  little,  to 
New  Amsterdam.  Now  Katryne  Schuyler  wanted  to 
see  the  world.  She  had  said  to  Geertruyd  that  if  she  had 
wings  she  would  mount  upon  the  palisades,  there  spread 
those  wings,  and  fly  to  Paris,  to  Amsterdam,  to  Lon- 
don. Now,  if  Geertruyd  really  had  wings,  she  would 


202  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"   GABLES. 

fold  them  up  neatly  and  stay  at  home.  Why  go  to  see 
the  world,  when  all  the  world  was  coming  to  New  Am- 
sterdam ?  How  many  kinds  of  people  were  already 
here  !  In  her  own  family,  streams  of  several  sorts  of 
blood  ran  in  the  Smidt  veins.  She  was  Dutch,  one  of 
the  kind  that  liked  to  stay  at  home,  just  as  Katryne  was 
of  the  Dutch  kind  that  liked  to  be  flying  round,  going 
to  strange  countries,  conquering  new  worlds.  Geer- 
truyd's  father  was  Dutch,  but  had  English  relatives. 
Her  mother's  father  was  French,  a  Walloon,  one  of 
those  French  Protestants  fleeing  for  refuge  to  American 
shores,  some  of  them  coming  to  this  hospitable  port.  I 
have  already  referred  to  the  fact  that  eighteen  languages 
could  be  heard  in  New  Amsterdam's  streets,  some  poly- 
glot enthusiast  having  counted  up  that  number  of  tongues 
in  their  Babel  of  sounds.  What  place  of  many-tongued 
talk  like  New  Amsterdam  !  It  must  be  a  great  place,  a 
wonderful  place  some  day,  if  all  the  world  kept  flocking 
to  it.  As  many  as  one,  two,  three  millions  of  inhab- 
itants it  must  have,  and  little  Breuckelen  would  also  be- 
come a  great  city. 

Whirr-r-r-r  !  Spin,  spin  away,  O  wheel  !  Life  too  is 
spinning  and  full  of  excitement. 

Katryne,  Geertruyd's  friend,  wanted  to  see  lakes  and 
ponds  and  stretching  fields  ;  but  why  have  wings  .to  fly 
away  and  see  them  ? 

There  on  this  island  one  had  all  this  variety.  There 
was  Fresh  Water  Pond,  a  beautiful  sheet  that  the  sun- 


GEERTRUYD.  203 

set  stained  with  most  fascinating  shades,  like  some  of 
those  in  Geertruyd's  marriage  garb.  What  fish  abound- 
ed in  its  depths  !  Depths  ?  The  pond  was  said  in  one 
place  to  have  no  bottom.  This  bottomless  abyss  made 
Geertruyd  shudder.  What  awful  forms  must  wriggle 
down  there  in  the  dark  ! 

Katryne  had  said  "  Pooh  !"  to  all  this.  She  believed 
Fresh  Water  Pond  had  a  bottom,  and  had  told  Geertruyd 
if  she  would  lengthen  her — that  is,  Katryne — just  three 
feet  she  would  agree  to  wade  from  shore  to  shore  of  this 
awful  mystery,  and  nothing  worse  than  an  eel  would  nib- 
ble her  heel. 

But  Geertruyd  preferred  to  cherish  the  old  myth  and 
the  story,  too,  of  the  weird  abysmal  forms  down  in 
the  dark  water.  She  had  been  afraid  that  her  father, 
who  loved  to  drop  his  line  into  those  mysterious  depths, 
might  hook  up  a  strange  creature  with  serpent's  mouth 
and  form,  or  with  a  forked  tail,  or  a  tiger's  claws,  or  a  bat's 
wings,  and  as  he  was  sometimes  absent-minded,  he  would 
bring  it  home  to  sizzle  in  Geertruyd's  frying-pan  in  the 
roaring  big  fireplace  !  Ugh  !  It  might  hop  out  and  fly 
up  the  chimney,  or  fly  at  her  ! 

Whirr-r-r-r  !  How  the  wheel  did  buzz  behind  those 
dropped  curtains  ! 

As  for  fine  fields  and  beautiful  farms,  what  handsomer 
specimen  of  husbandry  than  that  of  the  Dutch  West 
India  Company  !  *  This  stretched  along  the  west  side 

*  Astor  House  is  said  to  be  on  the  site  of  the  Company's  farmhouse. 


204  BEHIND    MA^HATTAJT   GABLES. 

of  our  Broadway,  not  far  from  City  Hall  Park,  and  it 
ran  back  to  North  River. 

It  was  good  to  see  the  farm  in  summer,  when  emerald 
with  the  luxuriance  of  Nature's  promises,  or  in  autumn, 
when  blushing  with  a  modest  sense  of  the  accomplish- 
ment of  all  prophecies,  for  it  showed  the  noble  fruitage 
of  Manhattan,  such  as  cabbages  fair  and  spherical  as 
the  silver  moon,  or  pumpkins  round  and  with  golden 
pulp. 

Beautiful  and  bountiful  was  the  earth,  and  earth,  too, 
just  there  in  New  Amsterdam,  Geertruyd  meant,  rather 
than  earth  all  over  the  world.  Geertruyd  was  going  to 
stay  at  home  and  enjoy  it. 

Whirr-r-r-r  !     Faster,  faster,  faster  went  the  wheel. 

Yes,  New  Amsterdam  was  a  wonderful  treasure-box. 
Ah  !  did  it  have  among  its  valuables  a  husband  for  Geer- 
truyd Smidt  ?  This  was  a  silly  dream,  she  declared. 
There  were  so  many  things  of  an  eventful  nature  every 
day,  and  this  very  day  doubtless,  though  not  happening 
as  yet,  that  she  must  resolutely  close  the  door  upon  mar- 
riage— yes,  slam  the  door  !  This  she  proceeded  to  do 
by  stamping  on  the  floor  energetically  with  her  high- 
heeled  shoe. 

But  hark  !  there  was  a  pound  with  the  knocker  on  the 
door  itself.  It  was  a  summons.  It  was  imperative  too. 
Somebody  wanted,  must  have,  something. 

She  did  not  go  to  the  door  directly,  but  prudently 
pulled  away  a  corner  of  a  curtain  and  looked  out.  Her 


GEERTRUTD.  205 

heart  beat  quick.  It  was  a  young  man  !  She  hurried 
to  the  door. 

He  was  a  good-looking  youngster,  and  had  a  fine  fig- 
ure. His  eyes  were  blue  and  kindly,  his  features  regu- 
lar, his  complexion  ruddy,  his  face  intelligent  and  ener- 
getic, but  it  had  a  hurried  look  just  now,  and  his  manner 
betrayed  the  fact  that  something  besides  mere  water  was 
on  his  mind,  though  he  said,  "  Oh  !  oh  !  will  you  give 
me  some  water — " 

He  hesitated. 

Such  a  vision  as  of  an  angel  in  glorious  color  had 
broken  upon  him  !  Such  a  beautiful  face  bent  toward 
him  !  A  celestial  being,  or  who  was  it — where  did  she 
come  from,  this  rainbow,  this  tulip  bed,  this  cluster  of 
precious  stones?  He  spoke  confusedly,  "Oh,  do  you 
speak  English  ?" 

What  was  the  native  tongue  of  this  angel,  English  or 
Dutch  ? 

She  began  to  smile.  She  colored,  too,  for  it  flashed 
upon  her  that  this  young  man  might  be — yes,  could  it 
be  her  future  husband  2 

She  was  blushing  deeply  now. 

"  Do  you  speak  English  ?"  he  asked  again. 

"  Oh,  yah!  oh,  yah!" 

She  turned,  then  halted,  for  he  was  speaking  again, 
and  hurriedly,  looking  back  at  the  same  time  over  his 
shoulder,  as  if  afraid  of  seeing  in  the  street  some  unwel- 
comed  object. 


206  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

"  Could  1  go  into  the  garden  ?"  he  was  saying. 

"  De  garden  ?     Oh,  yah  !  oh,  yali  !" 

One  of  her  first  thoughts  was  that  she  was  very  glad 
Katryne  Schuyler  and  her  own  father  had  given  her 
some  idea  of  English.  Then  she  filled  with  water  an 
antique  drinking-cup  of  silver  and  ran  out  into  the  gar- 
den. 

Geertruyd,  holding  the  cup  in  her  hand,  her  sweet 
face  blushing  crimson  under  her  snowy  cap,  her  jacket 
and  skirt  and  petticoat  and  hose  a  mass  of  brilliant  color, 
the  drops  of  water  that  trickled  from  the  cup  changing 
in  the  sunlight  to  a  necklace  of  pearls  that  this  Dutch 
enchantress  was  recklessly  dropping — what  a  pretty  pic- 
ture ! 

But  where  was  he  ? 

She  stopped.  Had  her  husband  gone  ?  She  looked 
among  the  cabbages,  the  poppies,  the  borders  of  box. 

Somebody  in  the  shade  of  a  large  thrifty  peach-tree  in 
the  rear  murmured,  "  An  angel  !"  and  stepping  out  into 
open  sunlight  cried,  "  Here  I  am  !" 

She  almost  let  the  silver  cup  drop  when  she  heard  the 
voice. 

Bowing,  he  came  forward  and  took  the  cup. 

"  Lady,  1  thank  thee,"  he  said  gratefully. 

She  dared  not  look  up,  but  shyly  dropped  her  head,  as 
if  her  white  cap  were  a  heavy  burden. 

"  I  thank  thee,"  he  said  again. 

As  she  took  the  cup  she  noticed  on  his  hand  a  gold 


GEERTRUYD.  207 

ring.  The  stone  in  it  was  of  a  warm  red,  warm  as  the 
blushes  in  her  face.  Site  might  have  seen  her  husband 
if  she  had  looked  up,  but  with  true  modesty  she  con- 
tinued to  hang  that  crimson- flushed  and  charming  face. 

He  was  speaking. 

"  1  am  going  to  tell  my  story.  1  have  an  enemy. 
Captain  Yan  Schenkel— ' ' 

She  did  not  catch  more  than  half  his  words,  but  in 
her  thought  she  repeated  the  most  important. 

"  En — enemy  !     Captain — Yan — Schenkel !" 

She  gave  a  frightened  start.  Captain  Yan  Schenkel 
her  possible  husband's  enemy  ! 

"  Oh  !  oh  !"  she  murmured  in  most  pitying,  sympa- 
thetic, delightful  music. 

11 1  have  been  in  his  ship — and — 1  am  afraid  he  will 
send  men  to  take  me — and — could  you  let  me  hide  in 
that  shed  ?  I  shall  be  so  thankful  !" 

She  wanted  to  gaze  into  his  face  and  look  her  sympa- 
thy. She  dared  not.  She  said,  though,  intensely, 
promptly,  "  Oh,  yah  !  oh,  yah  !" 

Katryne  disliked  Yan  Schenkel,  and  of  course  Geer- 
truyd  disliked  Yan  Schenkel,  and  when  she  saw  his 
cruel  plans  she  said  she  would  do  anything  to  befriend 
his  enemies  or  defeat  his  allies.  Was  this  an  enemy  of 
Yan  Schenkel  ?  He  was  Geertruyd's  friend,  and  might 
hide  in  her  shed  or  her  parlor. 

He  touched  his  cap,  and  withdrew  into  the  depths  of 
the  shed. 


208  BEHIND  MANHATTAN  GABLES. 

Geertruyd  hurried  into  the  house.  Quickly  she  came 
running  back  again,  and  without  a  word  set  down  by  the 
door  of  the  shed  a  drinking-cup  filled  with  water,  as  if 
she  were  placing  it  at  the  door  of  a  bird-cage  for  some 
precious  pet.  Then  she  timidly  stole  back  to  the  house. 
Her  heart  was  going  so  fast  now  !  Her  spinning-wheel 
seemed  inside  of  her.  Who  would  come  next  ?  Was  she 
in  a  suitable  dress  to  receive  the  next  marital  appearance  ? 
The  next  ?  There  should  be  no  other.  She  would  keep  her 
present  garb  sacred  to  her  husband  out  in  the  shed.  She 
tripped  up  the  stairs  leading  to  her  chamber,  removed 
all  her  finery,  packed  it  carefully  away,  and  soon  went 
downstairs  again.  Now  she  wore  a  dress  over  whose  white 
background  flew  a  multitude  of  little  birds  in  blue  all 
mounting  upward,  as  if  anxious  to  get  into  Geertruyd's 
cap  or  the  wealth  of  her  rich  brown  hair  and  find  a  rest- 
ing-place there.  She  was  very  bewitching  now,  more  so 
than  ever,  and  the  accepted  though  unconscious  candidate 
for  matrimony  out  in  the  shed  would  have  said  so. 

She  sat  down  to  spin. 

Again  the  wheel  went  whirr-r-r-r  !  whirr-r-r-r  ! 

It  was  but  for  a  moment.  She  ran  to  a  window  that 
looked  out  upon  the  garden.  She  leaned  forward  to 
catch  a  view  of  the  shed-door.  Had  the  cup  of  water 
been  taken  away  ?  It  was  still  there.  The  bird  in  the 
cage  had  not  touched  it.  Ought  not  Geertruyd  to  take 
out  a  plate  of  those  old-fashioned  Dutch  waffles  her 
father  liked  ?  Might  not  her  husband  be  hungry  ?  A 


GEERTRUYDi  209 

little  later,  or  when  it  was  dark  and  nobody  saw  her,  she 
would  take  out  the  waffles.  She  would  spin  now.  Spin  ? 
How  could  she  when  her  husband  was  in  danger  ? 
What  if  Yan  Schenkel  came  to  awe  her  and  seize  him  ? 
The  thought  terrified  her.  She  could  not  spin  now. 
She  went  to  a  window.  There  she  sat  with  folded  hands, 
looking  sadly  at  the  shed.  How  silent  and  oppressive 
was  the  old  Dutch  kitchen  !  No  longer  did  she  take 
pride  in  its  dresser  of  curious  old  Delft  ware,  or  its 
scrubbed  pewter  dishes,  or  its  mirror-like  tins.  Her 
heart  was  out  in  the  shed  and  a  tearful  face  was  at  the 
window  watching  the  shed. 

Betje  soon  came  from  her  visit  to  a  spot  that  long  has 
been  known  as  Bowling  Green.*  In  this  neighborhood, 
on  Sunday,  drawn  up  in  order,  might  be  seen  the  clumsy 
vehicles  of  the  farmers  who  from  their  country  homes  had 
in  dignity  been  borne  to  church.  Here  on  this  same 
green,  New  Amsterdam  reared  its  May-pole. 

Betje  had  found  near  the  green  a  group  of  negro 
friends,  and  sauntered  with  them  along  De  Heeren 
Straat  to  the  land  gate  or  land  poort.  She  had  now  re- 
turned to  her  domestic  sphere  wearing  her  green  baize 
dress  with  its  brown  linsey  woolsey  petticoat.  She  serene - 

*  "  On  the  north  side  of  Fort  Amsterdam,  and  almost  under  its 
walls,  was  a  grass  plot  which  some  of  the  very  oldest  inhabitants  of 
New  York  recollect  as  the  gathering-place  of  the  beau  monde  in 
their  younger  days." — History  of  New  York,  James  Grant  Wilson, 
Vol.  I.,  p.  294. 


210  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

]y  waddled  about  the  kitchen.  It  was  pleasant  to  hear 
her  clumsy  movements  as  she  slowly  oscillated  between 
the  fireplace  and  her  waffle- pan,  anticipating  the  mark 
on  the  sun-dial  for  supper-time.  She  would  oscillate  no 
faster,  though  the  shadow  might  be  on  the  supper-mark 
itself. 

Geertruyd  was  still  at  the  window,  apparently  knitting 
on  the  family  supply  of  hose  for  the  next  winter,  but 
maintaining  that  steadfast  watch  on  the  shed. 

Adam  Smidt,  her  father,  returned  to  his  shop  in  the 
front  part  of  the  house.  He  had  an  honest,  noble  face. 
A  tradesman  of  conscientious  habits,  his  gray  hair  was 
not  more  carefully  tied  up  in  a  queue  than  were  his  ac- 
counts duly  kept.  He  now  stood  behind  his  counter  to 
wait  for  a  customer  and  in  the  mean  time  speculate  on 
the  possible  profit  of  his  trade  in  furs  that  afternoon. 

Geertruyd  almost  dropped  one  of  Adam's  big  hose  as 
she  thought  with  a  start  what  if  her  father  should  go 
out  into  the  shed  and  look  about  ! 

He  considerately  did  no  such  thing,  but  stuck  to  his 
counter  and  his  meditations.  He  did  not  leave  these 
until  supper  and  Betje's  waffles  were  ready,  and  return- 
ing to  his  shop,  he  stayed  there  until,  looking  out  of  a 
window,  he  exclaimed  : 

"  There  is  Tanneken  !"* 

Tanneken  was  the  family  cow.  It  was  an  old-time 
custom  in  New  Amsterdam  to  employ  a  herdsman  who 
*  A  form  of  Ann  or  Nan. 


GEERTRUYD.  211 

came  about  winding  his  horn  and  collecting  the  cows. 
These  were  driven  through  the  land  gate  in  the  wall  to 
the  Commons,  the  town  pasture.  Tanneries  and  the 
nobler  buildings  of  an  advancing  civilization  had  lessened 
the  old  pasture  space  within  the  wall.  The  Commons 
not  only  made  a  place  available  for  cows,  but  public  exe- 
cutions. 

From  this  public  pasture  ground  the  herdsman  of 
New  Amsterdam  gathered  the  straying  cows  at  twilight, 
and  conducting  his  precious  charge  within  the  wall,  blew 
his  horn  again  to  warn  the  owners  of  the  arrival  of  their 
bovine  pets.  Whether  Tanneken  came  home  in  this 
imposing  fashion  or  in  the  simpler  way  of  an  earlier  date, 
she  was  cordially  received  by  Adam  to  her  comfortable 
quarters  in  the  shed. 

Geertruyd's  heart  was  beating  fast.  What  if  her  father 
might  see  the  drinking-cup  and  hear  a  noise  made  by 
the  hide-away  ? 

Adam  Smidt  was  kind  enough  to  be  blind  to  the  one 
and  deaf  to  the  other.  At  least  he  reported  nothing 
seen  nor  heard,  and  only  said,  "  Tanneken  is  glad  to  get 
home." 

In  the  dark,  Geertruyd  ran  out,  thrust  her  head  into 
the  shed  and  said  : 

"  Pe  you  in  dis  house,  myn  vrind  ?" 

She  dared  not  say  husband,  but  it  was  "  myn  vrind." 

The  only  reply  was  the  noise  of  Tanneken  gratefully 
champing  her  fragrant  evening  cud. 


212  BEHIXD   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

Was  the  drinking-cup  empty  ? 

Geertruyd  felt  for  it,  and  found  that  nothing  was  in  it. 
Then  he  had  drunk  it  dry.  She  was  glad  to  know  it  had 
been  acceptable,  and  she  stole  back  into  the  house  to  fill 
the  cup  and  set  it  out  in  the  shed  again,  for  he  might 
still  be  within,  but  fast  asleep,  and,  waking  up,  how 
grateful  he  would  be  for  a  draught  of  Tanneken's 
milk  ! 

She  had  hardly  gone  into  the  house  when  a  black  cat, 
that  had  drained  the  first  cup,  slyly  came  and  greedily 
lapped  this  second  one  empty. 

At  the  curfew-hour,  nine,  Adam  and  Geertruyd  heard 
the  bell  of  St.  Nikolaas'  Church  drowsily  ringing,  and 
they  promptly  went  to  bed. 

How  could  Geertruyd  sleep  ! 

Perhaps  an  hour  later  there  was  a  noisy  shouting 
under  the  window. 

"  Do  you  see  him  ?"  asked  one  voice. 

u  Nowhere,"  replied  another. 

"  You  might  as  well  try  to  hunt  up  Hendrik  Hud- 
son, "  growled  a  third. 

Adam  thrust  his  head  out  of  the  window.  He  could 
make  out  a  number  of  shadowy  forms. 

"  What  is  wanted  ?"  he  asked.  "  You  are  waking 
up  people." 

"  1  am  Captain  Van  Schenkel.  1  am  hunting  for  one 
of  my  crew  who  has  got  away  from  me.  Have  you  seen 
a  sailor  hiding  round  ?" 


GEEKTKUYD.  213 

"  1  have  seen  no  sailor  hiding,  and  all  who  are  not, 
ought  to  sail  into  their  berths  as  soon  as  they  can." 

"  Ho  !  ho  !     Who  art  thou  ?"  inquired  one  man. 

"  Go  to  bed  thyself  !"  suggested  a  second. 

"  Haul  in  that  nightcap  !"  advised  a  third. 

"  The  villain  !"  growled  Van  Schenkel. 

They  all  passed  on. 

Geertruyd's  bed  trembled  as  if  it  had  the  palsy.  She 
could  hardly  wait  for  morning.  Very  early  she  stole 
out  into  the  shed  and  called  in  the  sweetest  robin  notes  : 

"  Pe  you  here,  myn  vrind  ?" 

"  M — m — mooh  !"  lowed  a  hungry  cow. 

Geertruyd  fed  her,  and  then  she  picked  up  the  cup 
emptied  by  her — husband  ? 

"  He  must  be  gone  !"  she  sighed. 

Was  it  a  sigh  of  relief  at  his  escape  or  one  of  regret 
for  the  loss  of  his  presence  ? 

She  sighed  again.  This  time  it  was  plainly  her  re- 
gret to  think  she  might  not  again  see  that  manly  Eng- 
lishman whose  blue  eyes  had  pierced  her  jacket  of  silk 
and  looked  farther  down  into  her  heart  than  any  pair  of 
eyes  that  yet  had  looked  upon  her.  In  one  little  day 
how  great  a  change  had  come  to  a  quiet  Dutch  maiden's 
life! 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

BIG-   DOORS    ON    LITTLE    HINGES. 

IT  was  a  bright  morning  when  Harold  Wharton  start- 
ed out  to  find  a  new  world,  in  which  work  was  his  aim 
and  honesty  his  motto.  Last  night's  storm  had  rolled 
away.  The  sun  shone  out  of  a  sky  as  blue  in  its  stretch 
from  east  to  west  as  if  the  clouds  lately  sweeping  it  had 
been  brushes  of  azure  on  the  upper  side,  giving  it  a  new 
vividness  of  tint. 

A  bright,  it  was  a  busy  morning.  Whatever  windmills 
New  Amsterdam  had,  these  were  going,  vigorously  flapping 
their  wings.  Half  a  dozen  vessels  were  in  port,  and  an 
energetic  process  of  unloading  was  going  on — men  giving 
orders,  men  hoisting  goods,  and  men  lowering  them. 
In  the  canal  there  were  lively  echoes  of  the  stir  without. 
Several  lighters  had  arrived  and  were  making  all  the 
noise  they  could.  People  were  bustling  in  and  out  of 
the  shops,  ready  to  trade  in  skins  or  in  goods  that  had 
made  an  Atlantic  trip.  The  tap-rooms  had  their  doors 
wide  open,  and  the  tapsters  were  smiling  at  anybody  who 
would  be  willing  to  walk  into  these  open-mouthed  traps. 
Sailors  in  slouching  hats  and  loose  blouses  and  wide 
breeches  had  come  ashore,  looking  for  pleasure,  which 


BIG   DOORS   ON   LITTLE   HINGES.  215 

already  was  looking  for  them  and  would  trap  them  be- 
fore they  were  aware  of  it.  A  number  of  New  Amster- 
dam's burghers,  past  any  serious  work,  were  strutting 
about  in  long-skirted  coats,  sporting  ruffles  about  their 
necks  and  ruffles  about  their  wrists,  their  hair  tied  in 
fiercely  twisted  queues.  Their  stout  legs  were  in  con- 
spicuous breeches  and  showily  colored  hose,  while  buckles 
were  shining  at  their  knees  and  buckles  were  shining  on 
their  shoes.  They  flourished  canes  as  if  sceptres  in  silent 
pride,  for  was  not  this  New  Amsterdam  ?  They  joked 
complacently  with  one  another ;  they  told  stories  about  life 
on  the  sea  or  in  trade  with  the  Indians,  and  with  their 
advice  patronized  a  younger  generation,  or,  glancing  at 
the  vessels  in  port,  told  what  ventures  in  trade  they 
themselves  would  make  if  owning  those  ships. 

One  of  the  vessels  floated  the  English  flag  ;  and  when 
a  party  from  it  came  ashore  Harold  noticed  the  man  who 
was  leading  off  and  had  the  air  of  a  captain,  and  asked  : 

"  Your  ship  from  England  ?" 

"  Boston  !"  was  the  reply  in  a  very  positive  English 
accent  and  manner. 

"  Have  you — you — do  you  want — any  work  ?"  was 
Harold's  hesitating  question. 

When  had  he  ever  put  such  a  question  before  ? 

"  1  want  just  one  man — more  than  I  have  got  already 
— to  go  back  with  me  to  Boston  ;  and  if  your  St.  Nicho- 
las, to  give  it  English  fashion,  smiles  on  me,  I  weigh 
anchor  to-morrow." 


216  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

An  idea  struck  Harold.  Here  would  be  a  fine  chance 
to  get  to  Boston  and  see  those  New  Englanders  that 
were  crowding  down  on  New  Amsterdam  ;  and  it  might 
be — might  be — that  he  would  like  Boston  and  might  get 
a  better  chance  to  work  than  in  New  Amsterdam.  It  was 
true,  this  voyage  meant  rough  work,  and  it  was  not  agree- 
able to  Harold's  pride  to  subject  his  will  to  another  and 
get  sailor's  fare  in  return  ;  but  he  recalled  what  his  fa- 
ther once  said  when  talking  with  Harold  about  work  : 
"  If  thou  ever  may  want  work,  put  thy  pride  under  foot, 
and  especially  when  thou  art  barefooted,  and  it  may  help 
thee  get  some  shoes." 

The  captain  looked  at  Harold  sharply,  saying  with  his 
eyes  : 

"  I  want  men  who  can  work." 

"  I  will  see  you  to-rnorrow,"  said  Harold. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  to  sea  ?"  inquired  the  captain. 

"  Oh,  I — I  haven't  been  a  sailor  ;  but  I  could  learn." 

"  Well,  think  it  over.  As  1  said,  if  your  Dutch  saint, 
Saint  Nick,  does  not  frown  on  me,  if  he  will  give  me  a 
good  smile,  the  Lion's  Head,  my  ship,  will  weigh  anchor 
to-morrow." 

"  He  takes  me  for  a  Dutchman.  '  Your  Dutch  saint,' 
he  says,"  reflected  Harold. 

He  now  told  the  captain  he  would  think  it  over  and 
let  him  know  in  the  morning.  He  then  turned  away. 
What  next  ? 

He  needed  a  little  money  that  he  might  get  ready  for 


BIG   DOORS   ON   LITTLE   HINGES.  217 

the  voyage,  and  he  would  hunt  up  some  work.  He  went 
to  the  canal  in  De  Heeren  Graft.  On  either  side  of  this 
small  water-way  were  posts  snugly  enclosing  it  in  old 
country  style,  and  these  framed  that  day  an  animated 
picture,  for  five  lighters  were  now  laboriously  toiling  their 
way  up  the  canal.  Not  a  great  distance  back  from  the 
canal  stood  the  houses,  their  gables  respectfully  turned 
toward  the  canal,  their  roofs  sharply  slanting  skyward. 

Up  and  down  De  Heeren  Graft,  Harold  wandered  ; 
but  in  a  land  abounding  in  work  he  himself  found  no 
demand  for  workmen.  A  monosyllabic  grunt  meaning 
"no"  was  generally  the  answer  to  his  inquiries.  To 
think  nobody  wanted  Harold  Wharton  !  It  was  both 
discouraging  and  humbling.  Finally,  on  another  street, 
he  approached  a  house  over  the  lower  half  of  whose 
front  door  a  man  was  leaning,  contentedly  smoking  and 
aimlessly  looking  out. 

"  There  is  a  shop  in  there,  but  the  keeper  does  not 
seem  to  have  anything  to  do  ;  and  as  I  have  nothing  to 
do,  there  ought  to  be  some  sympathy  between  us.  I 
will  speak  to  him,  for  he  will  treat  me  kindly,"  con- 
cluded Harold. 

"  Heer,  have  you  any  work  I  could  do  ?" 

Most  people,  though  using  a  tongue  strange  to  another, 
can  make  the  other  party  understand  when  they  wish  to 
grant  a  favor  or  refuse  a  request.  Isak  Wyckoff  shook 
his  head  regretfully,  for  he  had  caught  the  word  "  work," 
and  he  said  to  himself,  "  This  is  a  young  Englishman,  I 


218  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

should  say,  and  for  some  reason  I  think  he  wants  work, 
but  I  have  not  any  ;  let  me  think,  though,  I  might  give 
him  one  thing.  How  am  I  going  to  make  him  under- 
stand ?"  He  nodded,  pointing  back  to  his  garden  and 
moving  his  hands  as  if  weeding. 

Harold  saw  that  he  meant  work,  but  Harold  did  not 
want  work  of  that  sort,  and  shaking  his  head,  he  was 
about  to  move  on,  when  he  recalled  his  father's  advice 
to  put  pride  under  foot,  especially  when  one  was  bare- 
footed. He  nodded  his  head,  and  like  a  friend  ad- 
dressed him  : 

"  Heer,  I  thank  thee.     I  will  work  in  the  garden." 

A  beck  was  the  answer  of  the  shopkeeper,  stepping  out- 
side his  door  and  leading  Harold  round  the  house  into  a 
neat  and  thrifty  garden.  Then  he  stooped  down  to  his 
melon-patch,  weeded  a  hill,  and  pointed  at  it. 

Harold  nodded  assent  and  went  to  work.  At  first  he 
took  hasty  cognizance  of  the  fact  that  the  melon-patch 
was  near  the  wall  of  a  shed  in  the  next  lot.  He  soon 
took  special  notice  of  this  building,  for  it  threw  a  pro- 
tecting shadow  over  him  as  he  toiled  in  his  employer's  lot. 

"  This  is  a  hot  day.  I  did  not  think  a  few  days  ago 
that  I  should  so  soon  be  working  for  a  living  this  way. 
Well,  to-morrow  I  shall  be  off  for  New  England,  and 
that  will  give  me  a  change,"  he  reflected.  "  I  know  I 
can  find  something  there  to  do,  and  it  will  take  care  of 
me  in  an  English  town  and  among  English  people.  How 
fortunate  I  am  !  I  went  at  the  right  moment  to  find 


BIG   DOORS   ON   LITTLE   HINGES.  #19 

that  man,  and  I  got  my  chance.  Now  I  don't  have  to 
weed  a  melon-patch  much  longer.  This  is  my  last. 
Lucky  !"  Soon  he  ceased  working  and  sought  the 
shadow  of  the  shed- wall.  "  This  shadow  is  a  good 
thing,"  he  said  aloud  as  he  seated  himself  near  the  build- 
ing belonging  to  the  owner  of  the  next  lot. 

"Isit  ?"  asked  a  voice. 

Startled,  Harold  looked  about  him.  Was  it  the  shop- 
keeper ?  Harold  could  not  see  any  one. 

"  I  must  have  been  dreaming,"  he  said.  "  Don't  see 
anybody." 

He  returned  to  his  work.  He  was  busily  pulling  up 
pig- weed  and  sorrel,  when  a  voice  called  out,  "  Harold  !" 
Harold  looked  up  in  astonishment.  What  was  it  he  saw 
at  a  small  window  in  the  shed-wall  ?  A  mist  began  to 
gather,  and  then  it  cleared  all  away,  and  he  saw  a  face 
that  he  well  knew,  and  it  smiled  upon  him  and  beckoned 
him. 

"  George  Martin  !  George  Martin,  can  it  be?"  ex- 
claimed Harold.  "  For  the  love  of  me,  tell  me  where 
thou  art  from  ?  I  thought  George  Martin  was  at  sea, 
and  I  believe  he  is  now." 

George  smiled  :  "I  am  here  ;  and  come  here,  Har- 
old. Go  to  that  door  round  on  the  other  side. ' ' 

Harold  found  it,  entered  it,  and  there  stood  George 
Martin  at  the  foot  of  a  mound  of  hay,  but  only  a  second, 
in  a  glad  surprise,  did  he  stand  there,  and  then  sprang 
forward  to  take  Harold's  outstretched  hand. 


220  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

"  What  art  tbou  doing  in  here,  boy  ?" 

"  I  am  hiding." 

"Hiding?     What  for  ?" 

"  1  ran  off  from  that  Van  Schenkel — the  brute  ! — and 
a  Dutch  maid  gave  me  a  chance  to  hide  here. " 

"  Up  on  the  hay  ?". 

"  Yes.  I  went  out  in  the  dark  last  night,  after  Van 
Schenkel  and  his  men  had  been  here  trying  to  find  me, 
and  I  have  laid  in  some  food  I  bought  of  a  man  I  knew. 
I  was  so  tired,  and  have  slept  so  sound  up  on  that  hay, 
that  I  don't  know  how  many  people  have  been  here." 

"  Come  away  with  me  now." 

"  Oh,  it  would  be  risky.  Wait  thou  till  after 
dark." 

"  I  will  be  here  an  hour  after  the  sun  has  gone  down, 
and  take  George  Martin  away. " 

Harold  soon  returned  to  his  weeding,  and  George  to 
his  mound  of  hay.  An  hour  after  sunset  Harold  was 
calling  in  a  low  tone  : 

"  George  !     George  !" 

"  I  am  here,  Harold,  and  I  will  join  thee." 

The  two  stalwart  Englishmen  went  off  together. 

"  Where  wilt  thou  take  me,  Harold  ?  Let  us  go  out- 
side the  wall,  Harold." 

"  We  shall  be  too  hungry  there.  I  know  of  a  build- 
ing left  by  a  trader  in  a  negro's  care.  He  will  let  us  in. 
He  has  an  odd  name,  and  says  it  is  Wubbit.  Follow 
me." 


BIG   DOORS   OK   LITTLE   HINGES.  221 

Behind  a  gable  rather  the  worse  for  the  weather,  but 
through  whose  chinks  the  wind  from  the  Atlantic  made 
pleasant  music  in  a  tired  sailor's  ears,  George  Martin 
slept  profoundly.  Harold  Wharton  lay  awake  a  long 
time.  A  chance  for  one,  a  chance  to  go  to  New  Eng- 
land !  Who  should  have  the  chance  ?  It  might  mean 
for  Harold  a  path  opening  into  a  life  of  abundance  and 
honor.  A  chance  for  one  !  Who  should  have  the 
chance  ?  These  two  thoughts  kept  turning  over  and 
over  like  wheels  in  Harold's  brain,  one  wheel  chasing 
the  other.  By  and  by  he  too  fell  asleep.  The  wind 
had  no  listener  as  it  whistled  about  the  old  Manhattan 
gable  with  its  crow-steps. 

In  the  morning  Harold  and  George  stole  away  from 
the  house  at  dawn,  for  the  fear  of  Yan  Schenkel  lay  like 
a  dismal  shadow  across  the  new  day  brightening  the 
humble  streets  of  New  Amsterdam.  Harold  led  the 
way  to  the  ship  already  loosening  its  wings  for  a  flight 
to  Boston,  and  transferring  his  opportunity  to  George 
Martin,  watched  the  vessel  as  it  bore  his  old  playmate 
away  from  New  Amsterdam. 

"I  wanted  that  chance,"  he  murmured,  "but  I  am 
glad  George  has  got  it." 

Harold  had  made  an  arrangement  with  Wubbit,  the 
negro,  so  that  he  could  occupy  a  "  slaap-bank, "  a 
humble  sleeping-bench,  under  the  roof  that  the  negro 
guarded,  and  his  pretentious  tavern  quarters  were  aban- 
doned for  this  less  expensive  refuge,  and  adapted  to  ad- 


222  BEHOTD   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

verse  days.  He  also  engaged  his  sable  landlord  to  be 
his  cook. 

After  his  return  from  the  water-front  he  was  soon 
ready  to  resume  his  weeding  in  Isak  Wyckoff's  garden. 
His  dress  was  not  a  rich  one.  It  was  of  coarse  cloth,  but 
serviceable,  and  as  he  knelt  among  Isak's  melon-hills, 
near  the  wall  of  the  adjoining  shed,  he  thought  that  the 
late  hide-away  in  the  shed  was  dressed  very  much  in  the 
same  fashion,  in  the  same  sort  of  cloth,  and  that  it  was 
of  the  same  color. 

"  Two  young  chaps  from  Old  England,"  thought 
Harold,  as  he  pulled  up  the  pig- weed,  "  one  up  aloft  in 
the  rigging,  and  the  other  down  on  his  knees  here  in 
this  melon-patch  ;  but  it  is  honorable  work  we  are 
doing." 

Hark  !  Was  that  a  step  he  heard — the  step  of  a 
passer-by  ?  From  his  crouching  posture  near  the  wall 
of  Adam  Smidt's  shed  he  began  to  rise. 

"  What  if  it  be  somebody  I  know  !"  he  thought. 
"  I  don't  want  them  to  see  me  weeding  in  this  Dutch- 
man's garden.  No — what  do  I  care  ?  Let  them  see  me, 
and  I  will  look  that  way."  It  was  a  clumsy  rise,  and  it 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  passer-by.  "  Katryne 
Schuyler  !"  murmured  Harold,  and  as  handsome  a  bow 
as  possible  in  his  confused  frame  of  mind  he  gave  to  the 
prettiest  maid  he  had  seen  in  New  Amsterdam.  She 
blushed  in  return,  and  also  nodded  her  crimson  hood. 

Harold's  awkward  abandonment  of  his  posture  as  a 


BIG   DOCKS   ON   LITTLE   HINGES.  223 

workman  was  a  trifle  in  itself,  but  it  was  destined  to  in- 
fluence Katryne  seriously  in  solving  the  question  of 
Harold  Wharton's  possible  interest  in  Geertruyd  Smidt, 
the  daughter  of  the  man  owning  the  shed  near  the 
melon -patch. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

REVELATIONS. 

THE  bell  of  St.  Nikolaas'  Church  in  the  fort  was  ringing 
to  notify  the  little  world  near  it  that  it  was  the  curfew 
hour,  and  steady-going  folk  must  go  to  bed.  This 
ringing  would  affect  Adam  Smidt  peculiarly,  for  though 
wide-awake  before,  he  would  promptly  begin  to  yawn 
and  nod,  and  looking  round  drowsily,  say  good-night  to 
Geertruyd.  The  curfew  hushing  the  active  life  of  New 
Amsterdam  was  respectfully  acknowledged  in  Adam 
Smidt's  steady  snoring,  soon  proceeding  from  his  bed. 
He  was  very  regular  in  all  his  habits,  not  one,  Phaethon- 
like,  to  vex,  but  one  to  keep  the  frisky  sun,  if  need  be,  in 
order,  one  to  regulate  all  the  freaks  of  the  moon,  and 
he  was  better  than  Geertruyd' s  sun-dial  to  tell  her  if  the 
hour  for  dinner  were  near.  Clouds  might  prevent  a 
dial-record  ;  no  storm  stopped  Adam.  *  When  she  heard 
the  clink  of  a  spoon  in  a  tumbler  she  knew  it  was  eleven 
o'clock,  and  the  pots  and  kettles  in  the  big  fireplace 
must  be  in  active  operation. 

This  particular  night  of  the  curfew,  Katryne  was  Geer- 
truyd's  guest.  If  Hans  had  been  at  home — that  Hans 
who  wanted  to  bring  Lysbet  and  Katryne  under— he 


REVELATIONS.  225 

might  have  forbidden  this  feasting.  As  it  was,  they 
accepted  an  invitation  to  "  take  tea  out"  at  the  home  of 
Adam  Smidt.  Lysbet  and  Katryne  wore  big  pockets, 
stuffed  with  apparatus  for  knitting.  They  had  patiently 
knitted  till  the  shadow  on  the  dial  had  crawled  to  six. 
Then  they  were  seated  at  the  table,  decked  with  treasured 
old  china,  dotted  with  tea-cups,  each  flanked  by  a  big 
lump  of  sugar  on  a  little  plate,  while  about  the  table 
was  breathed  a  delicious  odor  of  hot  waffles  and  honey. 
Lysbet,  after  an  abundant  repast  received  in  solemn 
silence,  for  she  was  not  given  to  conversation,  drew 
on  her  hood,  and  then  let  Katryne  wrap  her  broad  shoul- 
ders in  an  ample  cloak,  the  air  being  chilly.  Katryne 
had  permission  to  stay  all  night,  and  at  curfew  she  and 
Geertruyd  retired  to  the  bed  whose  size  and  expensive 
wood  and  fine  furnishings  made  it  a  neighborhood  won- 
der. It  had  rich,  elaborate  curtains  to  seclude  it  from  a 
curious  world.  These  came  from  Amsterdam.  The 
patchwork  quilt  came  from  Geertruyd's  brain  and  Geer- 
truyd's  fingers.  At  the  touch  of  this  cunning  workman, 
such  flowers  blossomed  on  that  quilt,  such  fruit  ripened, 
such  squares  and  circles  took  their  position,  such  stars 
and  suns  and  crescent  moons  halted  in  their  orbits,  that 
it  is  a  wonder  a  guest  seeing  them  before  retiring  could 
possibly  sleep  under  such  bewildering  wonders.  As  a 
fact,  though,  the  guest  drifted  toward  the  Island  of  Sleep, 
not  lying  on  a  hard,  modern  mattress,  but  on  one  that 
was  crammed  with  live  goose  feathers,  while  over  the 


226  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"   GABLES. 

guest  was  a  light  bed  of  down.  Between  two  such 
helps  to  drowsiness  sleep  was  inevitable. 

This  night,  however,  the  occupants  of  the  guest-bed 
showed  no  disposition  to  sleep.  The  tongue  of  iron  in 
the  belfry  of  St.  Nikolaas'  Church  stilling  Adam  Smidt, 
only  set  the  tongues  of  Katryne  and  Geertruyd  to  run- 
ning. There  they  lay,  their  eyes  wide  open,  staring  at 
the  ceiling  that  hung  low  above  them.  Geertruyd's 
gentle  heart  swelled  with  a  secret  she  could  not  shut  in 
to  herself. 

"Katryne,"  she  began,  "I  must  tell  thee,  dear,  of 
something  strange.  I  was  spinning  day  before  yester- 
day, and  a  young  man  asked  me  for  water,  and  said  he 
was  hiding  from  Dirk  van  Schenkel." 

"  Dirk  van  Schenkel  ?  Was  it  one  of  Dirk's  sail- 
ors 2" 

"  He  did  not  say  that,  but  he  was  afraid  of  Dirk,  for 
I  could  see  that  very  plainly,  and  he  wanted  to  hide 
himself  in  our  shed,  and  there  he  tarried — and  I  did  not 
see  him  again." 

Geertruyd's  voice  died  away  in  a  plaint  sorrowful  as 
that  of  the  wind  moaning  above  a  grave  burying  a  dear 
face  never  to  be  seen  again. 

"  Did  Dirk  van  Schenkel  come  for  him  ?" 

"  We  think  so,  for  a  great  clatter  came  up  in  the 
night,  and  father  looked  out  of  the  window  and  saw  a 
lot  of  men  who  wanted  to  know  if  we  had  seen  anybody 
running  off." 


REVELATIONS.  227 

11  It  would  be  like  Dirk  to  hurt  somebody  ;  and  he 
insulted  that  young  Englishman  who  has  been  here — " 

"  What  young  man  ?"  eagerly  asked  Geertruyd,  who 
for  some  time  had  been  suspicious  of  Katryne's  wish  to 
marry  her,  Geertruyd,  rather  than  any  young  man. 
"  Katryne,  darling,  did  he  have  clear,  clear  blue  eyes,  and 
soft,  wavy  brown  hair,  and  was  he  erect  and  rather  tall 
— and — and — did  he  make  thee  think  of  a  burgomaster 
or  a  patroon  ?" 

Behind  the  soft,  rich  bed-curtains,  how  Katryne's 
voice  pealed  forth  in  laughter,  like  a  silver  bell  striking 
glad,  happy  notes  ! 

"  Oh,  thou  dear,  dear  little  Geertruyd,  how  I  love 
thee,  and  I  ought  to  marry  thee  !  Yes,  he  was  all 
that." 

"  And  he  was  English,  that — thy — that  young  man  ?" 

"  Y-y-yes.  Mine?  Oh,  fie,  fie!  None  of  mine! 
Now  let  me  ask  questions.  "What  became  of  him,  this 
young  man  bravely  hiding  away  in  thy  shed  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  went  out  there,  but  1  could 
not  find  him,"  was  Geertruyd's  sorrowful  confession. 

"  Nothing  but  the  cow  there  ?     Ha— ha— ha  !" 

Geertruyd  was  in  a  mood  too  serious  for  jest.  Katryne 
with  ready  tact  appreciated  this,  and  she  changed  her 
front.  To  herself  she  said  : 

"  Ah  !  poor  Geertruyd,  my  love,  I  saw  thy  young  man, 
I  think,  and  this  very  day — but  I  will  ask  some  more 
questions — over  in  Isak  Wyckoff's  garden  this  very  day, 


228  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"   GABLES. 

near  thy  father's  shed.  .Now,  let  me  try  thee  some 
more." 

Katryne,  then,  in  her  most  earnest  mood  nestled  closer 
to  Geertruyd,  reached  out  her  hand,  felt  for  some  unruly 
locks  that  would  stray  away  when  Geertruyd  herself 
wished  to  subdue  and  powder  them,  and  in  the  most 
irresistible  tone  Katryne  began  : 

"  Now,  thou  sweet  little  tulip,  tell  thy  Katryne  once 
more  just  how  he  looked — every  part  of  him — just  how 
he  acted,  just  how  he  carried  his  head — everything,  and 
then  maybe  I  can  tell  thee  everything  Geertruyd  may 
wish  to  know." 

"  How  he  looked  ?» 

"Yes." 

"  I  told  thee,  dear." 

"  But  tell  me  again,  little  tulip." 

' '  He  had  brown  hair,  curly. ' ' 

"  That  is  Harold  Wharton,"  thought  Katryne,  for 
she  had  found  out  his  name.  "  1  knew  as  much." 

"  Go  on,  Geertruyd  !"  said  Katryne,  almost  fiercely, 
listening  so  eagerly. 

"  Then  he  was — he — had— every  one  would  say — he 
had  a  beautiful  color  in  his  cheeks — " 

"  Harold  Wharton  !"  silently  declared  Katryne, 
breathing  nervously  and  twisting  nervously  the  curl  on 
Geertruyd' s  forehead. 

li  Go  on  !"  she  ordered,  in  a  loud,  eager  tone  that 
startled  Geertruyd. 


KEVELATIOKS.  229 

"  And  he  held  his  head  up— and — he  might  be  a  proud 
young  man,  one  would  say,  if— he — 

"  Harold  Wharton  !"  thought  this  hunter  for  tracks, 
this  seeker  of  signs,  drawing  in  her  breath  as  she  list- 
ened. She  then  let  it  out  in  a  sharp,  quick  inquiry  : 

"  How  did  he  dress  ?" 

"When  Geertruyd  told  her,  Katryne's  heart  gave  a 
throb  of  pain,  as  she  silently  owned  that  Harold  Whar- 
ton was  dressed  that  very  fashion  when  she  saw  him  in 
Isak  "Wyckoff's  melon-bed. 

"  Go  on  !"  she  ordered. 

What  a  hoarse  tone  !  Geertruyd's  suspicion  had  been 
steadily  sharpening.  She  turned  quickly  to  her  beloved. 
"  Katryne,  dear,  a  poor  little  horse  can  go  only  so  fast." 

"  Forgive  me,  thou  angel  !" 

"  Oh,  I  will,  I  will  ;  but,"  she  whispered,  "  did  thy 
young  man  look  like  my  young  man,  Katryne  ?" 

"Oh,  how  jealous  my  dear  little  tulip  is  !  Thou 
hast  not  finished,  thou  hast  not  told  me  everything." 

"  Answer  me  now,  Katryne.  Not  one  word  more 
till  thou  shalt  say — does  he  look  like  thy  Englishman  ?" 

"  I  should  say  he  did  ;  but  look— look — like  one — 
means  not  look  as  one.  Of  course  not." 

"  No,"  murmured  Geertruyd  hopefully. 

"  Tell  me  everything,"  insisted  Katryne. 

"  Yes,  everything  to  thee.  I  will  tell  thee.  I— I 
was  all  alone,  and  I  dressed  up,  and  I  said,  '  Perhaps  if  I 
make  a  pretence  and  say  if  I  dress  as  a  bride,  it  may 


230  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"  GABLES. 

be  my  husband  will  come,'  and  I  pray  thee,  who  came, 
thinkest  thou  ?  Canst  thou  guess  ?" 

"  That  young  Englishman  !"  affirmed  Katryne  sternly. 
She  had  listened  so  intently,  she  had  held  her  breath  in 
as  if  dead,  and  now  her  hand,  playing  with  the  lock  of 
hair  given  to  rebellion,  twitched  it  so  fiercely  that 
Geertruyd  cried  out  : 

"  Ow — ow,  thou  hurtest  me,  dear  Katryne  !" 

"  I  am  a  brute  !  I  deserve  hanging  !"  said  the  hunter 
for  tracks,  and  rising  up,  she  threw  her  arms  about  Geer- 
truyd, she  kissed  her  repeatedly,  and  pleaded  for  for- 
giveness. 

There  was  a  recess  of  silence,  and  the  two  young 
women  stared  at  the  bed-curtains.  Geertruyd  suddenly 
turned  to  Katryne,  and  in  softest  whisper  asked  : 

"  My  dear  Katryne,  art  thou  here  ?" 

"  Where  should  1  be,  on  the  floor  ?" 

"  No,  no  ;  near  me.  Lovest  thou — thou — that  young 
Englishman  ?" 

Here  Katryne  jumped  up  in  bed  and  then  jumped  out 
of  it,  and  then  capered  about  and  laughed,  and  said 
Geertruyd  had  lost  every  sense  she  had  and  had  gone 
mad,  and  if  Geertruyd  did  not  stop  talking,  Katryne 
would  not  stop  with  a  madman.  She  stopped  though 
just  the  same,  and  told  Geertruyd  that  marriage  was 
very  pleasant,  but  no  one  had  asked  for  Katryne's  hand, 
and  she  must  come  back  to  her  dear  Geertruyd. 

Then  the  two  friends  said  good-night,  and  pretended 


REVELATIONS.  231 

to  go  to  sleep.  They  folded  their  fair  hands  upon  their 
breasts,  and  their  eyes  wide  open,  they  lay  as  if  stricken 
motionless  by  a  paralytic  stroke,  and  yet  breathing 
heavily,  each  to  make  the  other  think  she  was  fast 
asleep. 

"Poor  Katryne  !"  thought  Geertruyd.  "She  has 
not  really  said  she  would  only  marry  me,  and  she  did 
not  deny  that  she  loved  that  young  Englishman,  and  she 
does  then —  It  cost  Geertruyd  a  painful  heart-pang, 
but  her  strong  woman  nature  was  equal  to  the  sacrifice. 
"  If  Katryne  loves  this  young  man,  and  if  I  am  a  friend 
of  Katryne,  a  true,  true  friend,  then  I  will  give  up  to 
Katryne  the  one  she  loves.  1  must  not  think  of  him 
any  more.  If  I  see  him,  I  must  not  speak  to  him.  I 
must  not  look  at  Katryne' s  husband.  Yes,  I  will  put 
him  out  of  my  thoughts.  I  must  be  like  a  vrouw  who 
sees  her  husband  die,  and  never  sees  his  face  any  more 
after  the  day  the  bell  of  St.  Nikolaas'  tolls." 

So  Geertruyd  proceeded  to  bury  her  husband.  And 
all  this  time  of  intense,  painful  activity  she  was  breath- 
ing heavily,  as  if  the  Sleeping  Beauty  herself,  in  her  one 
hundred  years  of  slumber. 

And  Katryne,  as  she  gazed  roofward,  reflected  thus  : 

"  Poor  Geertruyd  !  She  thought  she  had  found  her 
husband.  She  is  more  interested  in  Harold  Wharton 
than  she  will  allow.  How  she  must  have  looked  in  her 
beautiful  colors,  waiting  for  a  husband,  and  then  bidding 
Harold  Wharton  welcome  !  I  should  have  fallen  in 


232  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

love  with  her,  and  I  cannot  blame  anybody  else.  Oh, 
dear,  if  I  am  her  friend  I  will  give  up — give — ' ' 

She  stopped  thinking,  while  her  heart  went  like  the 
windmill  in  the  fort.  Her  look  toward  the  roof  was  so 
sharp  and  hard  and  persistent,  it  seemed  as  if  it  would 
make  a  hole  there,  and  let  in  a  white  star  curious  to  gain 
admittance.  Was  Katryne  ready  to  give  up  Harold 
Wharton  ?  Why  should  she  hold  on  to  him  if  Geer- 
truyd  loved  him  ?  What  was  she  to  Harold  ?  To  Geer- 
truyd  was  she  not  a  friend  ?  Then  why  not  surrender 
this  beautiful  dream,  the  fair  face,  the  brown  locks,  the 
bright,  brave  look,  the — she  stopped.  Her  heart  was 
now  like  a  windmill  in  a  gale.  She  was  as  much  of  a 
woman,  though,  as  Geertruyd  Smidt,  and  she  said,  "  I 
must  not  think  of  him  ;  I  must  not  speak  to  him.  Oh, 
I  must  not  look  at  him  !"  So  Katryne  proceeded  to 
bury  her  husband  in  a  deep,  deep  grave.  All  this  time 
of  wild  commotion  in  her  thoughts,  she  was  breathing 
heavily,  as  one  of  the  Seven  Sleepers  in  the  cave  at 
Ephesus. 

Would  Geertruyd  and  Katryne  hold  fast  to  their  vows  ? 
One  test  soon  came. 

The  vessel  that  proudly  sailed  away  from  New  Am- 
sterdam, bearing  George  Martin,  was  roughly  handled 
at  Helle-Gat,  and  humbly  crawled  back  to  her  old 
moorings  to  spend  three  days  in  repairs.  George 
thought,  the  twilight  before  he  again  sailed,  he  would 
steal  up  to  the  house  under  whose  easterly  gable  he  had 


REVELATIONS.  233 

stood  and  received  permission  from  a  fair  maid  to  take 
shelter  in  her  shed.  He  wished,  too,  for  one  more  drink 
of  water.  For  her  sake  he  had  vowed  to  touch  no  more 
the  cup  in  whose  depths  he  had  found  fetters  for  his 
shameful  binding.  From  her  hands  he  would  now  take  a 
goblet  of  water,  and  as  she  might  nervously  jar  it  in  the 
handling,  he  would  see  at  the  touch  of  this  fairy  the 
falling  drops  change  to  crystal. 

She  saw  him  coming.  "  My  husband  !"  she  said,  and 
sighed,  looking  out  of  an  open  window.  Then  she 
thought  of  Katryne,  and  throwing  up  her  hands  as  if  in 
horror,  without  one  word  of  recognition  she  ran  away. 
George  saw  it  all.  He  did  not  knock,  but  turned  sadly 
back  to  his  ship.  Katryne's  attitude  toward  Harold  is  a 
part  of  the  story  of  another  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE    SAVAGES   ABE   COMING-. 

"  ONLY  this,  and  then  Harold  "Wharton  must — "  he 
did  not  like  to  say  what  would  come  next.  As  he  spoke 
he  was  looking  at  his  last  bead  of  wampum.  Isak 
Wyckoff  had  no  more  work  for  him  when  that  melon- 
patch  had  been  weeded.  Harold  had  then  found  several 
chances  for  work  among  the  lighters  in  De  Heeren  Graft 
and  among  the  shipping  in  the  harbor.  He  had  worked, 
too,  in  the  tanneries.  Occupation  then  ceased.  He 
was  reduced  now  to  his  last  bead  of  wampum. 

The  money  that  circulated  in  New  Amsterdam, 
while  it  included  coin  like  guilders  and  stuyvers,  was,  as 
a  rule,  wampum,  said  to  have  had  its  origin  in  an  Indian 
word  meaning  white.  This  was  one  color  of  wampum 
money,  but  there  was  also  a  black  kind,  and  at  New 
Amsterdam  it  was  called  zeewan*  It  is  a  delicate  ques- 
tion to  decide  what  shall  be  money,  as  we  in  this  gener- 
ation have  found  out,  and  to  handle  this  delicate  ques- 
tion roughly  is  disastrous,  as  we  of  this  generation  also 
know.  It  was  the  periwinkle  whose  shell  supplied  the 

*  History  of  New  York,  by  W.  L.  Stone,  pp.  38,  64. 


THE   SAVAGES  AKE   COMING.  235 

above  white  money  ;  it  was  "  the  purple  part  of  the  hard 
clam"  that  furnished  the  dark  money.  As  we  go  to 
the  mines  for  precious  ore,  the  Indian  went  to  the  great 
sea  that  he  loved  and  feared,  there  to  find  his  treasures 
in  clam-beds  and  periwinkles.  Bits  of  shell  were 
•worked  into  bead  form,  rubbed  smooth  and  polished, 
and  holes  were  then  drilled.  On  the  sinew  of  an 
animal  these  beads  were  then  strung,  and  hence  came 
the  name  of  a  "  belt  of  wampum."  The  belts  were  of 
various  lengths.  A  belt  or  string  that  might  be  a  fathom 
long  was  worth  at  one  time  four  guilders.*  A  fathom 
is  six  feet,  supposed  to  be  the  distance  a  man's  arms 
cover  when  extended.  Short  arms,  though,  would  make 
a  short  fathom,  and  a  long  pair  of  arms  would  give  a 
long  fathom.  The  Indians  did  not  forget  this,  and  in 
trading  with  our  Dutch  ancestors  they  knew  enough  to 
pick  out  their  tallest  men  when  a  long  fathom  would 
help  their  interests.  It  is  said  that  the  famous  fur-trader, 
John  Jacob  Astor,  used  by  the  bushel  wampum  bought 
at  Communipaw. 

New  Amsterdam  used  large  quantities  of  wampum 
money.  The  black  was  the  more  valuable,  and  perhaps 
the  clams  knew  it,  and  furnished  just  enough  of  the 
soft,  beautiful  purple  from  the  walls  of  their  houses  to 

*  A  guilder  is  worth  about  forty  cents,  and  a  stuy  ver  two  cents. 
Beaver-skins  found  use  as  currency,  a  skin  at  first  bringing  three 
dollars.  At  one  time  an  Indian  could  have  got  a  stuy  ver  for  four 
wampum-beads.  Their  value,  like  that  of  a  beaver,  might  change. 


236  BEHIND    MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

keep  the  value  of  the  white  beads  down  to  one  half  that 
of  the  black  ones. 

And  was  there  any  counterfeit  wampum  ?  one  may 
ask.  I  am  sorry  to  acknowledge  that  everywhere  bad 
money  follows  the  good  as  inevitably  as  shadow  chases 
the  sunlight.  Poor  wampum  was  also  made,  and  on  the 
sly  it  was  circulated  in  New  Amsterdam.  Even  great 
Europe  was  interested  enough  in  these  little  wampum- 
beads  to  notice  them  covetously,  and  mean  enough  to 
make  porcelain  beads  and  ship  them  to  New  Amsterdam 
to  bother  the  simple-minded.  It  threw  the  Council  into 
great  excitement,  and  they  treated  the  evil  as  best  they 
knew  how. 

It  was  a  black  bead  to  which  Harold  Wharton's  money 
was  reduced,  and  he  mournfully  looked  at  it  while  he 
was  standing  in  the  market  near  the  fort. 

"  I  cannot  buy  much  with  that,"  he  said,  gazing  at 
the  smooth  little  globe  in  his  hand. 

He  said  this  to  an  Englishman  whom  he  knew,  and 
who  was  a  trader  in  furs. 

"Not  much,"  replied  the  man  ;  "  but  if  thou  wait 
until  we  have  gone  to  war  with  the  savages,  and  put  to 
death  a  few  hundred  thousand  makers  of  wampum,  thy 
bead  may  be  worth  very  much." 

"  War  with  savages  ?" 

"  I  take  it  that  thou  hast  not  heard  the  tidings  brought 
to  town  this  very  day." 

"  I  have  heard  nothing." 


THE   SAVAGES   ARE   COMING.  23? 

"  Oh,  there  is  tribulation  upon  tribulation  in  what  we 
know  as  Wiltwyck,  up  in  the  Esopus  !  The  story  gives 
one  ugly  dreams  at  night.  The  settlers  were  not  on 
their  guard,  for  when  the  savages  knew  that  Pieter 
Stuyvesant — '  wooden  leg,'  as  they  call  him — was  com- 
ing up  to  talk  with  them — for  they  had  been  very  uneasy 
— the  savages,  in  view  of  *  wooden  leg's  '  coming,  showed 
a  friendly  disposition  to  meet  him.  This  deceived  the 
settlers.  They  left  their  village  to  go  to  their  fields. 
They  left  behind  them  happy  and  prosperous  homes, 
devoted  wives,  and  loving  children.  When  they  came 
back — those  who  succeeded  in  reaching  their  homes — 
what  a  spectacle  of  bloodshed  and  fire  met  their  eyes  1* 
It  seems  that  a  large  number  of  savages  came  into  the  place 
between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock,  and  going  about  among 
the  families,  they  played  the  part  of  traders.  Here  they 
wished  to  sell  a  few  beans,  and  at  the  next  house  a  little 
maize.  What  came  of  it  ?  I  don't  believe  more  than  a 
quarter  of  the  grains  had  run  out  of  the  hour-glass,  when 
the  cry  was  brought  by  horsemen  that  the  savages  had 
burnt  the  new  village  !  Then  came  the  work  of  fiends. 
The  tomahawk  was  swung  everywhere.  The  warwhoop 
echoed  loud  and  shrill.  Houses  were  fired.  For  the  set- 
tlers rushing  in  from  the  fields,  a  bloodthirsty  foe  was 
waiting,  and  nobody  was  spared  that  could  be  reached. 
The  alarm-bell  had  been  sounded,  and  the  people  still  alive 
gathered  at  tho  dominie's  house,  and  others  in  various 

*  O'Callaghan,  History  of  New  Netherland,  Vol.  II.,  p.  474. 


238  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

places.  For  weapons,  they  only  had  cutlasses  and  a  few 
guns.  The  dominie's  words,  though,  gave  them  a  face 
that  feared  no  man.  The  sheriff,  too,  counselled  them. 
United  they  rushed  out,  and  attacking  this  horde  of  worse 
than  Midianites,  put  them  to  flight.  But  what  ruin  the 
night  covered  !  Wiltwyck,  it  is  said,  lost  twelve  dwell- 
ings— goodly  ones,  I  venture  to  say — and  in  the  new  vil- 
lage every  house  was  burnt  save  the  mill.  There  were 
seventy  souls  they  missed,  and  of  these,  forty-five— and 
almost  all  women  and  children — were  carried  off  captive 
by  these  bloody  Ishmaelites  of  the  desert.  Think  of 
that  !  But,  verily,  there  will  be  plenty  of  thinking. 
Heer  Director  and  his  Council  have  met,  and  a  messenger 
goes  up  to  Fort  Orange  to  raise  volunteers,  and  volun- 
teers will  be  raised  here.  Think  of  it,  young  man  ! 
Who  goes  will  have  soldier's  pay.  If  maimed,  he  will 
have  a  gratuity  ranging  from  four  hundred  to  one  thou- 
sand guilders — good  sound  money,  and  not  wampum — 
and  for  six  years  you  pay  no  tithes  and  no  chimney  tax. 
I  verily  believe  I  ought  to  go  myself." 

The  two  separated,  and  Harold,  walking  off,  looked 
at  his  last  bead  and  said,  "  He  was  a  cunning  man  who 
just  spoke  to  me.  He  did  not  say  '  Go,'  but  he  might 
as  well  have  spoken  it."  He  lingered  in  the  market- 
place thinking. 

That  morning  Katryne  had  rushed  into  the  living- 
room,  screaming  to  Lysbet,  "  Oh,  mother,  the  savages  are 
coming  !" 


THE   SAVAGES  ABE   COMING.  239 

"  St.  Nikolaas  defend  us  !"  shrieked  Lysbet. 

"What  sayest  them,  vrouw  ?"  grunted  Hans,  taking 
his  long  pipe  out  of  his  mouth. 

"  Katryne  says  the  savages  are  coming." 

"  Oh,  that  is  only  an  evil  story." 

"  But  Isak  Wyckoff  told  me,  father,  and  Isak  knows." 

"  Bad  tidings  have  come,  I  dare  say,  but  not  just 
that.  1 — I — will  go  to  the  fort  and  see  how  it  is." 

His  queue  was  freshly  tied  by  Lysbet,  a  clean  collar 
was  buttoned  about  his  thick,  short  neck,  the  wrinkles 
in  his  long  purple  coat  of  velvet  were  carefully  smoothed 
out.  Hans  Schuyler,  grasping  his  cane,  started  out 
with  an  air  as  important  as  that  of  Pieter  Stuyvesant. 

"  Mother,"  said  Katryne,  "  let  me  go  to  the  market 
to  buy  some  meat,  and  I  may  buy  some  news. " 

"  Go,  child.     Here  is  a  long  wampum  belt." 

In  the  market  the  first  person  she  saw  was  Geertruyd 
Smidt's  expected  husband  !  Katryne  started  back.  She 
was  not  looking  for  the  young  Englishman  in  the  market- 
place. How  Katryne  wanted  to  address  him  just  as 
Katryne  Schuyler  felt  toward  him  !  She  must  look  at 
him,  though,  as  the  possession  of  another,  and  looking, 
she  bowed  stiffly. 

"  The  savages  up  the  river  are  full  of  fight,"  he  re- 
marked, after  bowing  and  wishing  her  a  good-morning. 

"  Full  of  fight  !"  she  said  coldly.  "  We  shall  be  full 
of  fright  if  our  defenders  cannot  take  care  of  us."  How 
cold  and  acetic  her  tone  1 


240  BEHIND  MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

"Oh,  they  can  defend." 

"  Will  they  ?"  she  asked,  adding  to  herself,  "  I  must 
go  away  from  him  or  get  him  away  for  Geertruyd's 
sake.''  "  If  I  were  a  man,"  she  said  aloud,  "  I  know 
what  I  would  do." 

"  Oh,  what  wouldest  thou  ?"  he  said  half  playfully, 
half  seriously,  not  knowing  just  how  to  take  this  maid 
of  New  Amsterdam.  "  Dost  thou  know  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  if  a  man,  I  would  not  stand  idle  in  the  shadow 
of  a  fort  at  New  Amsterdam." 

Her  reply  was  so  sharp,  it  surprised  him.  Pride, 
that  is  stronger  than  love  at  times,  came  to  his  rescue. 

"  Indeed  !"  he  said,  bowing.  "  How  much  the  prov- 
ince loses  because  thou  art  not  great  enough  to  be  a  man 
and  a  soldier  !" 

"  If  a  man,  I  would  do  something  besides  talk  of 
those  in  danger,  and  as  a  woman  I  shall  use  well  my 
chances,  and  not  let  others  be  ashamed  of  my  record." 

"The  province  may  think  itself  happy,  lady,"  said 
Harold,  in  a  sarcastic  tone,  but  bowing  very  low,  "  in 
having  defenders  among  its  women  so  many,  many  miles 
from  any  sign  of  the  savages." 

Then  he  turned  and  moved  away.  Katryne,  too, 
moved  away,  and  each  said,  "  What  a  fool  I  have  been  !" 
Love  was  coming  back  to  mourn  over  the  wounds  that 
had  been  made. 

Katryne  never  made  such  unsatisfactory  bargains  as 
that  day  in  the  market.  There  was  not  much  to  buy 


THE   SAVAGES  ARE  COMING.  241 

besides  meat  and  fish,  though  the  time  of  ripened  vege- 
tables and  fruit  would  bring  heaps  of  green  and  gold 
and  crimson  from  the  farms  of  New  Netherland.  In 
buying  a  little — just  a  roast  of  lamb  that  had  been 
brought  from  a  New  Haerlem  farm — what  mistakes  she 
made  in  counting  her  wampum,  and  how  testily  she  spoke 
to  the  New  Haerlem  farmer  !  She  had  been  so  cruel  to 
Harold  Wharton  !  Her  only  consolation,  she  told  herself, 
was  that  it  was  something  done  for  Geertruyd's  sake. 

On  her  unhappy  way  home  she  abruptly  halted  and 
asked  herself,  "What  if  Harold  Wharton,  moved  by 
something  she  had  said,  should  go  to  the  war  ?  Was 
that  a  kind  thing  to  Geertniyd,  to  set  up  her  husband  as 
a  target  for  the  guns  and  arrows  of  savages  ?" 

The  thorn  in  Katryne's  breast  now  sank  deeper.  All 
that  day  she  was  very  lonely.  That  long  point  curving 
like  a  sickle  by  the  gateway  of  the  sea,  Sandy  Hook, 
was  not  more  lonely  in  winter,  when  the  waves  broke 
upon  it,  than  the  heart  of  Katryne  Schuyler.  When  at 
twilight  she  toiled  up  to  Johanna's  old  chamber  behind 
the  eastern  gable,  she  gave  one  look  into  the  attic  opposite, 
and  saw  the  box  from  which  had  mysteriously  been  stolen 
those  papers  about  one  Katryne.  When  that  possible 
chance  for  information  had  been  abstracted,  how  solitary 
she  felt,  this  girl  without  certain  descent  !  To-day  she 
had  deliberately  cast  off  a  rope  binding  her  to  somebody 
she  knew  and  loved,  and  with  whom  she  might  have  had  a 
friendly,  proper  acquaintance,  though  another's  husband. 


242  BEHIND  MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

Now  she  had  urged  him  to  go  to  the  Indians  !  How 
lonely  she  felt  ! 

She  did  not  know  how  much  she  had  influenced  him. 
She  had  dropped  a  spark  on  a  young  man's  sense  of 
duty,  just  ready  to  flame  up  into  a  consecration  and  send 
him  off.  He  went  away  from  the  market  saying  : 

"  I  have  strength  ;  I  have  time  ;  I  have  courage, 
1  think,  and  I  have  no  kindred.  Somebody  must  go  ; 
why  shouldn't  I  go  ?  I  shan't  have  to  worry  about  my 
food  and  clothes.  But  if  I  went  hungry  and  naked, 
ought  I  not  to  go  ?  I  was  told  I  must  be  a  knight.  Is 
not  the  knight's  call  to  duty  sounding  ?" 

One  day  Katryne  heard  the  rattle  of  drums.  It  was 
not  a  holiday-rattle,  a  pompous,  lively,  but  not  a  hard, 
sincere  beating.  Now,  every  drum-tap  was  sharp,  fierce 
even,  and  meant  WAR  !  The  rattle  did  not  have  to  go 
far  to  echo  all  over  New  Amsterdam,  up  and  down  the 
water-front,  about  the  Stadt  Huys,  along  De  Heeren 
Graft  and  De  Bever  Graft,  and  De  Brug  Straat  and  De 
Heeren  Straat ;  and,  indeed,  everywhere  !  That  rattle 
made  such  a  noise  in  the  ears  of  Katryne  Schuyler,  who 
was  out  on  the  stoop  polishing  the  brass  knocker,  that 
she  could  polish  no  more. 

"  The  volunteers  are  out  !  Heer  Director  Stuyvesant 
has  been  getting  them  together.  They  are  going  off  to 
the  war  !"  she  told  herself. 

Katryne's  eyes  flashed  with  excitement,  and  forsaking 
the  stoop,  she  went  off  to  take  one  more  look  at  the 


THE   SAVAGES  ABE   COMING.  243 

volunteers.  She  was  a  New  Amsterdam  woman.  She 
had  plucky  Dutch  blood  stirring  in  her  veins.  It  seemed 
to  boil  and  bubble  now. 

"  There  they  are  !"  she  cried,  and  began  to  clap  her 
hands. 

Yes  ;  and  stepping  off  behind  the  proudly  flaunted 
Dutch  flag,  the  orange,  the  white,  the  blue,  were  the 
volunteers.  She  could  not  keep  back  the  words  : 

"  Hurrah  for—" 

She  stopped.  Something  was  the  matter  with  her 
heart.  It  suddenly,  sharply  ached.  She  pressed  her 
hands  over  it,  and  then  stared  at  Harold  Wharton  walk- 
ing off  so  proudly  with  Heer  Director  Stuyvesant's 
volunteers !  Her  breath  seemed  to  leave  her.  The 
blood  left  her  hands,  her  feet,  and  surged  through  her 
heart.  She  stared  at  the  man  to  whom  she  had 
spoken  foolish,  cruel  words  in  the  New  Amsterdam 
market  one  day,  Geertruyd's  husband,  whom  she  had 
sent  off  to  the  war  with  the  savages  !  Would  he  not 
forgive  her  ?  Would  he  not  pity  her  if  he  knew  how 
much  she  had  suffered,  if  he  understood  what  her  real 
reason  was  in  saying  those  seemingly  unkind  words  ? 
Would  he  not  turn  his  head,  just  look — only  once  ?  She 
pleaded  only  for  a  single  look.  No ;  he  marched  on 
proudly,  stiffly,  as  any  of  New  Netherland's  volunteers 
there,  that  day.  How  serious  he  looked  ! 

He  had  been  doing  some  serious  thinking.  Was  it 
about  the  red  wounds  the  savages  might  give  him,  that 


244  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"   GABLES. 

if  mutilated  he  would  have  a  "  gratuity  ranging  from 
four  hundred  to  one  thousand  guilders,"  and  an  exemp- 
tion from  "  chimney  tax  and  tithes"  for  six  years  ? 
Chimney  tax  ?  He  had  not  a  chimney  to  his  name  ;  he 
had  no  home  ;  he  had  few  friends  ;  his  parents  were 
dead  ;  his  Uncle  Robert  was  a  blank.  Where  was  that 
proud  Dutch  beauty  who  had  sent  such  fiery  words  at 
him,  as  if  shooting  arrows  of  flame  at  his  heart  ?  Why 
did  he  shoot  any  back  ?  There  may  have  been  a  reason 
for  her  volley.  Somebody  may  have  been  talking  to 
her,  scolding  her,  provoking  her,  and  Harold  Wharton 
caught  her  overflow  of  feeling.  A  few  kind  words  from 
him  might  have  melted  her  to  penitence.  Where  was 
she  ?  He  would  like  to  see  her  once  more  before  going 
into  the  wilderness,  there  to  be  shot,  his  body  there  to 
be  given  to  bears  and  wolves.  He  had  twisted  his  neck 
round,  twenty  times,  hoping  to  see  her  somewhere  in 
the  crowd.  No,  she  did  not  care  enough  for  him  to 
leave  her  Dutch  gables  and  Dutch  kitchen,  just  to  come 
and  look  at  him  once  even  ! 

He  had  given  up  all  hope  of  seeing  her,  and  was 
marching  on  mechanically.  When  he  gripped  his 
match-lock  it  seemed  like  wood  taking  hold  of  wood. 
Was  it  a  proud  gait  ?  It  was  due  to  the  drum-beat — 
the  pride  was  in  that.  As  if  a  wheel  in  rolling  machin- 
ery, he  marched  to  the  water's  edge.  Like  one  of  the 
wheels  he  moved  up  into  one  of  the  vessels  waiting  to 
carry  off  this  probable  "  volunteer"  food  for  savages. 


THE   SAVAGES   ARE    COMING.  245 

Like  a  wheel  halting,  he  stopped  and  stood  on  the  deck. 
Suddenly  he  jerked  up  his  head  and  stared  at  a  vessel 
coming  down  the  river.  A  man  leaned  over  the  vessel's 
rail. 

"  Harold  !  Harold  !"  he  shouted.  He  waved  his 
hands  frantically. 

"  Uncle  Robert  !"  cried  Harold.  He,  too,  went  to 
the  rail,  leaned  over  it,  tried  to  shout  something,  but  all 
to  no  purpose.  There  was  a  widening  space  of  water 
between  two  men,  and  signals  as  well  as  sounds  were  futile. 

Harold  Wharton  was  lonelier  than  ever. 

And  Katryne  ?  She  was  in  that  humble  God's  Acre, 
near  the  fort  and  stretching  in  the  seclusion  of  its  scat- 
tered graves  from  De  Heeren  Straat  back  to  North 
River.  She  was  near  a  grave  that  Uncle  Pieter  had 
often  said  held  the  dust  of  his  beloved  wife,  whom  Ka- 
tryne had  been  taught  to  call  li  Aunt  Marytje."  Ka- 
tryne loved  to  visit  this  grave.  When  any  big  cloud  of 
trouble  came  up  into  her  little  sky,  filling  it  with  black- 
ness, she  loved  to  come  here.  "  Aunt  Marytje"  would 
understand  her  and  sympathize  with  her. 

When  Katryne  picked  the  first  of  the  violets  by  Fresh 
Pond,  or  the  last  of  the  Michaelmas  daisies  nodding  to 
Owl's  Kill  that  meandered  down  through  Wolfert's 
Valley  to  East  River,  she  would  bring  violets  and  daisies 
to  "  Aunt  Marytje."  And  now  she  came  to  this  spot 
to  watch  from  it  the  last  of  those  receding  sails,  whose 
destination  was  the  Esopus. 


246  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

"  Aunt  Marytje  will  pity  me,"  she  murmured,  "  while 
she  blames  a  foolish,  wicked  girl." 

Her  hands  were  on  her  heart,  trying  to  press  the  pain 
down. 

The  North  River  that  hour  was  very  much  disturbed 
by  the  wind.  The  ripples  flashed  in  the  sun  like  the 
scales  of  a  serpent.  Out  of  the  north,  the  mysterious 
north,  where  abounded  savages  and  bears  and  wolves,  it 
seemed  as  if  a  great  dragon  had  come,  twisting  and  crawl- 
ing, suddenly  to  spring  upon  and  devour  the  person 
dearer  to  her  than  all  others  in  this  world. 

Long  did  Katryne  wait  and  watch  from  that  grave- 
mound.  Every  sail  dwindled,  every  sail  faded. 

"  Gone  !"  she  murmured. 

Yes  ;  the  last  fragment  of  a  sail  had  vanished,  and  that 
word  sounded  like  a  note  from  the  bell  of  St.  Nikolaas' 
Church,  throbbing  at  a  funeral. 

She  turned  away  her  swollen  eyes  and  looked  down  at 
Aunt  Marytje's  grave.  This  spot  always  seemed  to  have 
an  altitude  greater  than,  that  of  any  other  in  New  Am- 
sterdam. It  was  higher  than  the  room  at  home,  where  Jo- 
hanna had  prayed  morning  and  evening  and  slept  at  night, 
the  room  behind  the  gable,  whose  steps  seemed  built  for 
the  accommodation  of  souls  like  Johanna,  with  heaven- 
seeking  tendencies.  When  she  died  Katryne  thought 
Johanna's  soul  must  have  softly  stolen  out  of  the  dormer 
window,  and  then  mounted  that  gable-stairway,  and  so 
gained  the  white  stars  that  it  seemed  to  touch  on  still, 


THE  SAVAGES  ABE   COMING.  247 

clear  nights.  But  Aunt  Mary  t  je's  grave  was  nearer  still 
to  heaven.  Somehow  the  angels  thronged  down  to  it  in 
flocks,  even  as  they  must  have  come  down  to  the  dream- 
ing Jacob  on  his  Bethel-pillow  of  stone.  Perhaps  they 
now  knew  when  Harold  Wharton  went  away,  that  some- 
body in  this  spot  needed  to  be  comforted. 

Though  Heaven  might  comfort,  yet  the  lonely  earth 
claimed  Katryne.  She  turned  away  from  the  old  grave- 
yard, and  taking  any  angels  of  consolation  along  with 
her,  went  to  comfort  that  "  poor  little  tulip,"  Geertruyd, 
whose  "husband,"  Katryne  said  to  herself,  she  had 
cruelly  sent  to  fight  savages,  alas  ! 


CHAPTER  XX. 

TIP    THE     NORTH    RIVER. 

SUMMER  had  passed,  and  autumn,  as  if  a  decorator, 
was  brightening  the  land  with  its  rich  drapery. 

"  Now  come,  girls,"  said  Adam  Smidt,  in  his  slow, 
measured  way  to  two  pretty  young  women  whose  heads 
under  their  white  caps,  in  emphatic  but  good-natured  dis- 
sent, were  bobbing  away  like  blossoms  of  the  bushy  "  snow- 
ball" in  the  wind.  "Now  come,  girls!"  he  cried 
again,  wishing  to  bring  those  dissenting  heads  into  line 
with  one  another,  uniting  them  on  something.  "  How 
would  you  like  to  go  up  North  River  and  see  Fort 
Orange  ?  The  Bear's  Paw  is  going — a  vessel  that  is 
mostly  mine — and  you  can  go,  too." 

"  Oh,  let  us  go,  Geertruyd  !  What  could  harm  any- 
body in  a  bear's  paw  ?"  said  Katryne. 

"  The  bear's  paw  itself  might  harm  us,"  demurely 
objected  Geertruyd. 

"  Now,  we  will  not  have  two  minds  about  that,  Geer- 
truyd, but  let  us  go.  Let  us  see  what  the  world  is 
like  !" 

Geertruyd  made  no  outward  reply  to  Katryne.     To 


UP  THE   NORTH   RIVER.  249 

herself  she  said,  "  That  is  Katryne.  She  always  wants 
to  see  what  is  outside." 

Yes,  Katryne  not  only  wanted  to  look  over  New  Am- 
sterdam's wall,  but  to  journey  somewhere. 

Geertruyd's  father  reflected,  "  Geertruyd  will  never 
go." 

He  was  right.  She  was  perfectly  contented  to  stay 
behind  New  Amsterdam's  palisades.  There  was  the 
floor  to  be  sanded  or  wool  to  be  spun  or  the  garden  to  be 
looked  after,  and  oh,  there  was  the  care  of  the  now 
thrice-beloved  cow  in  the  shed,  since  the  day  that  Geer- 
truyd's husband  or  Katryne's — one  of  the  two — had  with 
the  cow  occupied  the  shed.  Obstacles  piled  up  like  the 
Alps,  and  not  even  a  Hannibal  or  Napoleon  could  have 
overcome  them. 

Katryne  soon  had  permission  from  Hans  and  Lysbet 
to  go  to  Fort  Orange,  Adam,  as  an  old  friend  of  Hans, 
having  earnestly  pleaded  with  him.  The  skipper's  wife, 
Yrouw  Brinckerhoff,  a  friend  of  the  Schuylers,  was  also 
going. 

The  Bear's  Paw  was  moored  at  the  foot  of  De  Heeren 
Graft.  Does  the  vessel's  name  sound  odd  ?  Here  is  a 
short  list  of  oddities,  names  of  old  Holland  sea-travellers — 
the  Gilded  Otter,  the  Brownh'sh,  the  Spotted  Cow,  the 
Sea  Mew,  the  Half  Moon  (Hudson's  ship,  in  which  he 
passed  Sandy  Hook,  1609),  the  Orange  Tree. 

Skipper  Brinckerhoff  was  almost  ready  to  go.  He 
was  in  the  lofty  poop,  by  the  side  of  Katryne  and  Vrouw 


250  BEHIND   MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

Brinckerhoff.  For  the  latter  had  been  brought  off  sev- 
eral chests  and  still  more  bundles,  making  a  goodly  pile, 
and  she  had  piled  herself  on  top,  first  as  guard,  and  sec- 
ondly to  secure  a  good  outlook  for  herself. 

On  the  only  wharf  the  little  port  was  then  credited 
with  stood  a  group  of  men  and  women  and  young  folks, 
waiting  for  the  withdrawal  of  the  Bear's  Paw,  and  then 
their  interest  would  break  out  in  an  explosion  of  salutes 
from  hands  and  handkerchiefs,  while  the  most  demon- 
strative were  prepared  to  shout. 

The  Bear's  Paw  let  go  its  hold  upon  the  shore,  and 
the  shouts  rose  and  the  handkerchiefs  fluttered.  Slowly 
drifted  away  the  skipper,  his  crew,  and  his  passengers. 
The  day  was  a  clouded  one.  Katryne  had  heard  the  rain 
on  the  roof  in  the  night,  but  it  held  up  in  the  morning. 
There  were  masses  of  dull  cloud  piled  up  in  the  west, 
but  a  roof  of  silver  fleece  had  been  given  to  this  sombre 
structure.  Peeping  out  of  rifts  in  the  cloud  here  and 
there  were  eyes  of  blue  sky.  The  land  was  green  below, 
but  there  were  no  Jersey  City  and  Stevens'  Castle  and 
Elysian  Fields.  It  was  a  rather  lonely  region,  not  many 
signs  of  life  declaring  themselves. 

Katryne  was  alive  to  the  excitement  of  the  departure. 
She  could  not  keep  her  seat  by  the  side  of  the  placid, 
immovable  Brinckerhoff.  With  strange,  tender  interest 
she  looked  back  upon  the  fort  and  its  windmill,  the 
church,  the  Dutch  Company's  farm,  the  green  fields 
about  New  Amsterdam,  waving  her  hand  long  as  anybody 


UP  THE   XOJITII    RIVER.  251 

would  respond.  In  comparison  with  Henry  Hudson's 
Half  Moon  of  eighty  tons,  what  a  majestic  vessel  was  the 
Bear's  Paw,  estimated  to  be  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 
tons  burden  !  If  a  paw  were  of  such  size,  what  must  a 
whole  bear  be,  represented  in  one  of  those  enormous 
galleons  that  came  from  Spain  to  ruin  England  and  Hol- 
land if  possible,  but  which  some  of  Katryne's  nimble 
and  saucy  ancestors  had  boldly  tackled  and  crippled. 

Yes  ;  perhaps  their  descendants,  and  Katryne's  distant 
kindred  possibly,  might  be  on  the  deck  of  this  very 
Bear's  Paw,  sailors  in  red  shirts,  sailors  in  blue  shirts, 
sailors  in  gray  shirts.  Below  each  shirt  were  bulging 
breeches  and  long,  coarse  hose.  They  were  springing 
about  the  deck,  now  halting  to  hoist  a  sail,  then  making 
fast  a  rope,  or  winding  it  in  neat,  compact  coils.  In 
pauses  of  work  some  of  those  men  of  the  sea,  glad  to  be 
off,  were  dancing.  No  matter  if  savages  and  demons, 
redskins  from  the  fields  and  goblins  from  mountain  caves 
might  be  before  them,  action  was  welcomed.  Katryne 
greeted  it.  She  heard  with  a  child's  delight  the  noise 
of  the  wind  whistling  in  the  rigging.  She  looked  up  to 
the  old  Dutch  flag  floating  proudly  in  the  breeze,  and 
saluted  it  with  kindling  eyes.  Then  she  looked  back 
upon  receding,  diminishing  New  Amsterdam.  But  that 
attitude,  looking  back,  was  no  permanent  one  for  Ka- 
tryne. Looking  forward  was  her  occupation.  She  could 
not,  like  Yrouw  Brinckerhoff,  that  respectable  post,  stay 
in  the  stern  of  the  vessel.  She  must  get  into  the  vessel's 


252  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

bows  soon  as  possible.  She  scrambled  down  from  the 
lofty  poop,  and  climbing  over  tarry  coils  of  new  rope, 
was  flying  past  the  cook's  house,  when  she  saw  a  black 
face  in  the  door.  It  was  shining  with  a  happy  recog 
nition. 

"  Why — art  thou  here  ?"  inquired  the  surprised  Ka- 
tryne. 

"  Yah  !    Wubbit  am  here  to  do  the  cookin',  missus." 

It  was  the  old  negro  in  whose  sickness  Katryne  had 
been  the  compassionate  friend,  the  old  negro  who  had 
given  Harold  Wharton  a  refuge. 

"  Me  sees  ye  bime-by,"  said  the  cook,  grinning  as  he 
pulled  his  white,  woolly  head  within  his  warm  quarters. 

"  And  there's  the  old  negro  !  I  was  not  more  taken 
back  even  when  I  saw  Harold  Wharton  in  that  closet," 
reflected  Katryne.  When  would  she  see  Harold 
Wharton  again  ? 

From  the  Indian  country  to  which  Katryne  had  helped 
send  Geertruyd's  husband,  there  had  been  no  return  yet. 
Katryne  did  not  care  to  tell  it  to  any  one,  still  less  to 
Geertruyd,  but  she  cherished  a  secret  hope  that  on 
her  voyage  she  might  see  or  hear  about  Harold. 
She  would  not  confess  it,  for  it  was  a  tampering 
with  something  forbidden,  a  trespassing  on  other  people's 
property,  and  yet  it  was  there,  this  hidden  hope,  and  it 
was  a  half-defined  yet  impelling  motive  in  taking  this 
voyage.  What  if,  looking  over  the  rail  of  the  Bear's 
Paw  one  day,  she  might  see  Harold  in  the  weary  yolun- 


UP  THE   NOHTH   KIVER.  253 

teer  leaning  over  the  rail  of  another  vessel  on  its  way 
to  New  Amsterdam  ? 

So  Katryne,  who  had  at  one  time  been  expelling  from 
her  bosom  all  interest  in  Geertruyd's  husband,  as  she 
thought,  now  took  it  back  to  her  bosom.  Ah  !  Love 
had  never  left  its  warm  nest  there.  Then  there  was 
generous,  faulty  sinning  and  repenting,  dear  Uncle 
Pieter.  He,  too,  had  been  absorbed  by  that  dreary, 
insatiate  sponge,  the  wilderness.  He  had  been  heard 
from  once.  He  was  then  with  the  volunteers,  fighting 
the  savages,  but  he  had  not  returned  yet.  Perhaps  she 
might  see  Uncle  Pieter  that  Hans  Schuyler  still  alleged 
to  be  the  thief  taking  those  papers  from  the  attic. 
Slander  ! 

The  Bear's  Paw  was  now  passing  imposing  cliffs  of 
stone  on  the  west  side  of  the  river.  Katryne's  attention 
was  arrested  at  once.  She  was  reminded  of  an  intention 
to  set  down  in  a  diary  anything  that  might  interest  her. 
Adam  Smidt  had  anticipated  this,  and  presented  her 
with  paper  and  a  fine  lead-pencil  from  Holland. 

"  I  will  begin  my  diary  now,  and  here  in  the  bows," 
she  resolved. 

Adam  Smidt's  paper  was  soon  in  her  lap,  and  the 
new  pencil  in  her  hands.  The  Bear's  Paw  was  splash- 
ing along  as  she  wrote  : 

"  I  am  on  a  Bear's  Paw  for  the  first  time  in  ray  life, 
and  1  like  it.  I  am  going  to  write  down  anything  of  in- 
terest I  may  see  while  sailing  up  and  down  North  River, 


254  BEHIND    MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

which  some  people  call  after  Hudson.  We  are  now 
passing  some  strange  cliffs  on  the  west  banks.  They 
make  me  think  of  the  palisades  at  home,  our  '  wall. '  I 
should  not  be  surprised  to  see  Jan  Jansen  Slecht,  his 
gun  on  his  shoulder,  going  along  the  foot  of  that  fence 
of  stone.  Jan  Jansen  in  that  way  walks  along  the  wall 
at  home." 

There  was  a  great  gray  mist  ahead,  and  a  kind  of  gate- 
way opened  into  it.  Suddenly  a  canoe  darted  round  a 
point  of  land.  There  was  a  form  in  the  canoe,  undoubt- 
edly that  of  a  savage,  Katryne  concluded.  It  was  the 
only  sign  of  life  seen  for  a  long  distance.  Patter,  pat- 
ter ?  Why,  it  was  raining.  The  silver  fleece  in  the  sky 
was  discolored  now,  as  if  it  had  been  dragged  through 
the  mud.  The  eyes  of  blue  far  up  in  the  heavens,  those 
pretty  signs  of  fair  weather,  had  been  bandaged  by  the 
rain-clouds.  Katryne  noticed  some  kind  of  a  stream 
bending  to  the  right,  and  Skipper  Brinckerhoff  told  her 
it  was  a  creek  that  led  to  Haerlem  River. 

Where  that  creek  found  the  name,  Spuyten  Duyvel,  a 
famous  New  York  historian  can  tell  us.  This  preface 
should  be  made,  that  Antony  van  Corlear  is  said  to  have 
been  Heer  Director  Stuyvesant's  trusty  herald  and  trum- 
peter. When  the  English  threatened  the  very  life  of 
Manhattan,  Antony  was  sent  out  to  arouse  the  country 
and  bring  its  fighting  men  to  New  Amsterdam.  He  and  his 
trumpet  made  as  good  progress  as  could  possibly  be  made 
by  such  an  enterprising  firm  as  Antony  and  his  trumpet. 


UP  THE   NOETH   RIVEE.  255 

The  night  was  dark  and  rough  with  storm  when  Antony 
reached  the  above  creek,  and  also  no  one  was  willing  to 
ferry  him  over.  The  historian  solemnly  declares,  "  For 
a  short  time  he  vapored  like  an  impatient  ghost  upon  the 
brink,  and  then,  bethinking  himself  of  the  urgency  of 
his  errand,  took  a  hearty  embrace  of  his  stone  bottle, 
swore  most  valorously  that  he  would  swim  across,  '  en 
spijt  den  Duyvel'  (in  spite  of  the  devil),  and  daringly 
plunged  into  the  stream.  Luckless  Antony  !  scarce  had 
he  buffeted  half-way  over,  when  he  was  observed  to 
struggle  violently,  as  if  battling  with  the  spirit  of  the 
waters.  Instinctively  he  put  his  trumpet  to  his  mouth, 
and  giving  a  vehement  blast,  sunk  forever  to  the  bot- 
tom !"* 

Diary. — "  The  skipper  says  we  are  twenty  miles  from 
New  Amsterdam,  and  Henry  Hudson — I  will  say  Henry, 
for  poor  Uncle  Pieter,  who  calls  him  such  as  an  English- 
man— here  anchored  when  he  was  on  the  river  over  fifty 
years  ago.  And  there  are  those  strange  rocks  standing 
up  like  palisades  on  the  west  shore,  and  shutting  us  in 
like  a  fence.  They  have  been  following  us  all  the  time. 
I  wish  they  would  follow  me  back  to  New  Amsterdam, 
and  take  the  place  of  our  wall,  for  they  say  the  English 
are  coming.  Ours  has  holes  big  enough  to  let  in  a  sav- 
age or  a  New  Englander.  Would  I  keep  out  a  New 
Englander— Harold  Wharton,  say  ?" 

*  Washington  Irving,  History  of  New  York,  Book  7,  Chap- 
ter VII. 


256  BEHIND   MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

Diary. — "  The  river  is  spreading  out  into  a  bay.  It 
stretches  out  like  a  floor,  and  down  upon  it  fall  the  gray 
curtains  of  the  mist.  This  is  Tappan  Meer  or  Tappan 
Zee,  the  skipper  says.  I  am  like  a  bee,  I  sting  him  with 
questions  all  the  time." 

Diary. — ' '  Getting  late  in  the  afternoon.  The  skipper 
says  we  shall  stop  and  anchor  very  soon.  There  are 
some  high  mountains,  that  the  skipper  says  are  at  the 
entrance  of  miles  of  hills.  Oh,  how  they  shoot  up  ! 
That  one  at  the  left  has  a  big  black  cloud  on  its  top,  and 
I  wish  we  might  get  some  music  out  of  it." 

The  music  was  to  come,  for  she  was  looking  at  old 
Dunderberg,  that  Irving  says  is  peopled  with  imps  in- 
numerable, and  are  very  angry  with  captains  who  fail  to 
do  them  reverence. 

The  Bear's  Paw  came  to  an  anchor  in  the  very  pres- 
ence of  Dunderberg,  though  not  a  hint  of  respectful  salu- 
tation to  the  goblins  had  Skipper  Brinckerhoff  given. 
The  crew  were  scattered  about  the  Bear's  Paw,  some 
meditatively  leaning  over  the  vessel's  rail,  others  in  the 
bows  chatting  about  the  incidents  of  the  voyage.  From 
the  cook's  house  rose  the  tempting  odors  of  supper. 

Katryne  and  Vrouw  Brinckerhoff  were  in  the  lofty 
stern.  The  vrouw  looked  up  sleepily  from  her  knitting. 
She  had  calculated  on  several  hours  of  knitting  yet,  and 
though  that  blackness  on  the  goblin  mountain  made  her 
uneasy,  she  showed  no  disturbance,  but  looking  up, 
looking  down,  calmly  plied  her  needles.  Katryne  wished 


UP  THE   NORTH    RIVER.  257 

to  be  as  industrious,  but  her  surroundings  forbade  it. 
She  must  look  off,  aiid  her  knitting  lay  untouched  in  her 
lap.  All  the  river  was  hushed,  as  if  waiting  for  some 
mighty  presence  to  come  down  upon  it  from  the  hills. 
Every  moment  the  water  seemed  to  grow  blacker  and 
yet  more  glossy,  and  the  stillness  from  shore  to  shore 
was  almost  painful.  Even  the  men  at  the  rails  and  in 
the  bows  felt  this  oppressive  stillness  and  ceased  talking, 
and  looked  off  toward  the  mountain,  the  Hill  of  Thun- 
der. Its  clouded  top  frowned  and  glowered  and  black- 
ened more  and  more,  the  frown  descending  and  deepen- 
ing, the  hush  below  becoming  a  long,  awful  pause  of 
sound,  out  of  which  silence  looked  up  the  serious,  won- 
dering faces  on  the  deck  of  the  Bear's  Paw.  All  the 
while  Yrouw  Brinckerhoff  was  knitting,  though  mechani- 
cally. 

Suddenly  out  of  the  growing  darkness  on  Dunder- 
berg  snapped  a  flash  of  sharpest  light,  while  a  peal  of 
thunder  went  rolling  and  crashing  amid  the  mountains, 
as  if  a  thousand  batteries  had  gone  off  all  at  once. 

"  Mercy  !"  shrieked  the  vrouw,  and  off  from  her  seat 
she  rolled  in  the  direction  of  the  cabin,  leaving  her  knit- 
ting work  behind  her. 

Katryne  sprang  to  her  feet  and  clapped  her  hands,  it 
was  so  grand.  Again  the  black  cloud  on  Dunderberg 
was  on  tire  with  wrath,  and  again  the  batteries  of  the 
storm  sent  out  their  awful  explosion  to  roar  and  roll  and 
rattle,  and  against  the  opposing  height  shatter  into  count- 


258  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

less  echoes  of  battle.  The  rain  was  now  ruffling  the 
water,  and  then  in  fierce,  slanting  lines,  more  and  more 
violent,  it  charged  upon  the  Bear's  Paw,  as  if  animated 
by  Irving' s  goblins,  who,  in  sugar-loaf  hats  and  short 
doublets,  had  come  "  tumbling  head  over  heels  in  the 
rock  and  mist." 

The  decks  were  quickly  cleared,  Katryne  following 
Vrouw  Brinckerhoff,  the  crew  tumbling  into  their  quar- 
ters, the  cook  jamming  tight  the  door  of  his  sanctum. 
Only  the  skipper,  now  in  his  storm-jacket,  stuck  to  his 
post,  and  throwing  one  arm  convulsively  about  a  mast, 
tried  from  under  his  slouching  steeple-hat  to  look  out 
calmly  upon  the  attack  of  the  goblins.  Katryne  made 
one  attempt  to  peer  out  into  the  storm,  but  saw  nothing 
save  the  sheeted  rain  torn  by  frequent  bolts  of  lightning 
that  darted  down  in  dazzling  fire,  while  in  successive 
thunder-claps  the  batteries  on  Dunderberg  seemed  to  be 
raking  the  vessel  of  the  disrespectful  skipper  from  stem 
to  stern.  By  degrees  the  thunder  ceased  to  growl. 
The  lightning  was  only  occasional,  dulling  gradually, 
then  expiring.  The  goblin  forces  of  the  rain  retreated 
to  their  dark  caves  in  the  slopes  of  the  Dunderberg.  In 
the  east  the  clouds  rolled  away  from  the  sky,  and  the 
first  of  the  stars  hung  out  their  lanterns  in  response  to 
one  flashing  from  the  deck  of  the  Bear's  Paw.  Old 
Dunderberg's  head  was  not  entirely  clear  of  cloud.  It 
was  hard  to  tell  whether  it  were  only  a  night-cap  pulled 
over  its  brow  as  a  protection  against  the  autumn  chilli- 


UP  THE   NORTH    EIVER.  259 

ness,  or  a  menace  to  all  irreverent  skippers  that  this  fair 
weather  was  not  an  abandonment  of  war,  but  a  short- 
lived truce. 

Katryne  slept  soundly  that  night  at  the  portals  of  the 
hills,  save  that  she  dreamed  of  searching  after  Uncle 
Pieter  and  Harold  Wharton.  She  had  the  right  of  a  kin 
to  do  the  former,  and  as  Geertruyd's  friend  she  could 
hunt  up  Geertruyd's  husband. 

She  was  out  upon  deck  early  in  the  morning.  The 
Bear's  Paw  was  still  at  anchor,  and  the  river  was  sleep- 
ing in  its  bed  between  the  hills.  The  frowning  moun- 
tains were  silently  guarding  this  crystal  pass  to  the 
Highlands. 

Diary. — "  We  are  sailing  slowly  among  the  moun- 
tains. That  one  at  the  right  that  has  a  bold  front,  a  look 
as  if  it  were  coming  at  one,  Skipper  Brinckerhoff  says 
the  Indians  call  Kittatenny.*  I  shall  never  forget  this 
day,  this  sailing  through  a  dark  shadow,  then  out  into  the 
bright  sunshine — big,  big  hills  everywhere.  Skipper 
Brinckerhoff  says  the  savages  believe  that  the  Great 
Spirit  shut  up  here  the  rebellious  spirits.  These  moun- 
tains made  their  prison-house.  Here  they  groaned  away, 
and  there  was  no  help  for  them.  The  river  could  help 
them  though,  and  one  day  down  it  came  on  its  way  to 
the  sea.  It  pressed  against  this  mountain  prison-house, 

*  It  is  the  mountain,  Anthony's  Nose  ;  and  how  far  back  this  name 
goes,  I  know  not.  Irving's  humor  makes  it  sure  that  the  name  will 
go  far  into  the  future. 


260  BEHIND    MANHATTAN"   GABLES. 

pressed  harder  and  harder,  and  swept  through  it ;  yes, 
away  through  it,  and  let  the  spirits  out  !  That  is  worthy 
of  remembrance." 

Diary. — "  We  are  still  slowly  sailing  through  the 
mountains.  And  there  is  some  vessel  coming  toward 
us.  I  can  make  out  its  Dutch  flag.  Its  sails  are 
patched,  and  I  can  see  the  sailors  leaning  over  the  rail 
and  staring  at  us.  They  look  very  rough.  Yronw 
Brinckerhofi  is  making  the  skipper  laugh,  and  I  laugh, 
too,  for  she  says  it  all  has  a  knock-down  look,  as  if  the 
thing  and  its  crew  had  been  fighting  with  the  savages. 
Oh,  I  wonder  if  Harold  Wharton  be  there  !  Now  I  feel 
like  crying.  Ah  me  !  nobody  on  that  deck  looks  young. 
Their  faces  are  old  and  their  beards  are  gray.  They 
are  talking  with  the  skipper,  and  their  voices  are  old. 
Did  the  war  kill  off  the  young  men,  and  leave  only  gray- 
bearded  men  ?  I  must  stop  thinking.  The  skipper  says 
he  will  try  to  anchor  again  to-night  where  Henry  Hudson 
did  that  September  he  went  up  this  very  river." 

The  Highlands  were  rough  and  grand  and  lonely. 
West  Point  was  to  be  evolved  from  the  cliffs  and  woods 
bristling  on  the  west  bank  of  the  river,  and  from  a  big 
heap  of  Government  money. 

The  Bear's  Paw  slipped  quietly  through  the  northern 
gate  of  the  Highlands,  and  Katryne  looked  back  on  the 
fascinating  array  of  hills. 

"  They  are  going,  Vrouw  Brinckerhoff  !"  she  ex- 
claimed. "  No,  they  are  coming  !" 


UP   THE    XORTH    RIVER.  261 

It  seemed  as  if  the  hands  of  cunning  spirits  had  strung 
a  curtain  of  misty  blue  across  the  river,  and  this  they 
were  lowering  and  raising,  the  mountains  coming  into 
outline  and  then  shrinking  away.  After  a  while  the 
hawser  of  the  vessel  was  heard  clanking  down  into  the 
water,  the  Bear's  Paw  sinking  an  iron  claw  upon  the 
bed  of  the  river  and  gripping  it  till  morning. 

Katryne  sat  long  on  deck,  and  watched  the  mountains 
fade  away.  That  day  she  had  seen  the  mist  with  its 
long,  slender  brushes  of  gold,  then  purple,  then  black, 
wipe  all  away  our  Storm  King,  Break  Neck,  the  Beacon 
Range,  and  their  allies,  that  had  seemed  a  little  while 
before  so  imperishable.  Katryne  at  bedtime  went  to 
sleep  thinking  of  Geertruyd's  husband,  possibly  in  the 
shabby  vessel  with  torn  sails,  and  she  dreamed  that  he 
turned  into  Katryne's  lover. 

Diary. — "  Another  day  has  been  with  us  for  some 
time,  and  a  goodly  breeze  is  pushing  us  along.  Skipper 
Brinckerhoff  says  that  big  rock,  where  the  cedars  are 
growing,  is  the  Duyvel  Dans  Kamer.*  Brave  Henry 
Hudson,  when  he  came  up  this  river,  saw  the  savages 
dancing  there." 

Diary. — "  We  are  off  the  Esopus  now,  and  1  am  shiver- 
ing. We  are  getting  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  place 
where  the  settlers  had  the  awful  fight  with  the  savages, 
and  where  the  brave  volunteers  went.  I  wish  I  could 

*  The  dance-chamber  or  hall. 


262  BEHIND   MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

see  something  or  hear  something.  Oh,  where  is  my 
dear  Uncle  Pieter,  and  where  is  Geertruyd's  darling  and 
my— friend  ?  The  skipper  thinks  we  will  not  stop  here, 
but  go  on.  Shall  I  never  know  anything  about  the 
dreadful  war  ?  We  are  armed,  if  the  savages  come." 

Diary. — "  We  have  seen  a  very  strange  thing  ;  it  was 
a  savage  on  a  rock  !  He  waved  his  hand.  It  was  dread- 
ful to  see  him  so  near  the  Esopus.  Skipper  Brincker- 
hoff  seized  a  gun  and  aimed  at  him.  Vrouw  pulled  on 
one  side  and  I  pulled  on  the  other  and  would  have  held 
him  in,  but  he  fired.  It  is  a  wonder  he  did  not  hit  us. 
He  did  not  hit  the  savage,  for  he  ran  like  a  deer. 
He  did  though  hit  a  water-cask  near  the  rail,  for  the 
water  ran  out.  That  poor  savage  saluting  us,  and  then 
somebody  firing  at  him  !  Who  wonders  that  they  act 
so  when  we  have  been  doing  that  thing  so  often  ?" 

The  wind  refused  to  blow,  and  the  Bear's  Paw  came 
to  an  unwilling  halt  until  the  next  day,  and  then  the 
wind  was  accommodating  again. 

Diary. — "  Oh,  what  is  it  over  there  in  those  clouds 
piled  up  in  the  west  ?  They  look  as  if  something  behind 
were  going  to  break  through  them  and  come  in  sight." 

Her  next  act  was  to  clap  her  hands  in  her  impulsive 
way,  a  great  delight  shining  in  her  eyes.  The  some- 
thing about  to  break  through  the  clouds  was  a  range  of 
beautiful  mountains  of  blue,  just  their  royal  heads  show- 
ing. The  clouds  were  masks,  one  moment  resting  upon 
those  monarchs,  then  lifting,  lowering,  lifting,  till  finally 


UP   THE   NORTH    RIVER.  263 

a  great  wind  must  have  blown  upon  the  masks  and 
swept  them  away,  for  there  stood  out  in  imposing  but 
gentle  beauty,  the  Catskills  ! 

Diary, — "  Oh,  there  is  something  that  on  the  moun- 
tains looks  like  a  big  giant  lying  down,  and  the  skipper 
says  he  has  made  out  the  giant's  forehead,  where  one 
peak  rises  up,  and  another  peak  is  his  knee,  and  so  on. 
He  says  the  savages  tell  a  story  about  the  Great  Spirit 
who  punished  a  wicked  giant  by  making  him  lie  there, 
and  changing  him  into  that  form  of  stone." 

If  Katryne  could  have  heard  Henry  Abbey's  lines, 
she  would  have  appreciated  them  fully.  One  section 
runs  off  thus  : 

"  And  whenever  you  sail  along 
By  the  Kaatskills  high  and  grand, 
You  may  see  the  form  of  him, 
The  monster  that,  moons  ago, 
The  Manito  changed  into  this. 
He  lies  with  his  face  to  the  sky, 
You  can  mark  his  knees  and  breast, 
And  forehead  lofty  and  large  : 
But  his  eyes,  they  say,  are  lakes, 
Whose  tears  flow  down  in  streams 
That  seam  and  wrinkle  his  cheeks, 
For  the  fate  that  he  bears,  and  regret 
For  the  evil  he  did,  as  he  stalked 
In  the  sleep,  or  night,  of  the  moon, 
Moons  on  moons  ago." 

Diary. — "  The  skipper  says  the  Indian  name  for  the 
mountains  means  'mountains  of  the  sky.'  I  cannot 


264  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"   GABLES. 

take  my  eyes  off  from  my  hills  up  in  heaven,  as  I  call 
them.  Yes,  1  can  and  I  must,  for  how  fair  are  those 
colors  that  beginning  at  the  river  follow  one  another,  and 
how  they  draw  me  !  The  water  is  a  shining  gray. 
Then  comes  the  grass  of  the  shores,  the  autumn  grass, 
and  then  along  a  low  stretch  of  land  the  bright  colors  of 
autumn  are  burning,  and  beyond  the  lowland  are  my 
hills  in  heaven.  I  had  been  in  wonder  why  the  shores 
that  had  been  so  high  were  now  running  so  low,  and 
now  I  see  that  God  is  letting  the  land  run  low  that  we 
may  see  beautiful  things  beyond.  As  1  go  through  life, 
and  I  get  to  the  low  places,  may  my  Heavenly  Father 
give  me  the  eyes  of  faith,  that  I  may  look  higher  and  see 
my  hills  up  in  the  sky." 

So  the  little  band  of  river-travellers  went  on  and  on. 
The  country  had  changed,  and  the  banks  were  tame,  but 
here  and  there  appeared  bits  of  bewitching  scenery,  soft- 
ened by  some  veil  of  river  mist,  the  veil  growing  finer, 
more  and  more  delicate,  till  some  point  of  land  would  be 
turned,  and  then  hard  and  unyielding  it  would  go  like  a 
plough  through  the  delicate  veils  and  crush  all  their 
meshes  forever. 

It  seemed  to  Katryne  as  if  she  were  going  to  the  end 
of  the  world,  but  there  came  an  hour  when  a  sailor  ex- 
claimed, "  There  is  Rensselaerswyck  !"  How  good  it 
was  to  see  this  settlement,  over  which  Patroon  van  Rens- 
selaer  watched  zealously  and  jealously  !  She  was  still 
more  interested  when  Vrouw  Brinckerhoff  said  to  her  : 


UP  THE  NORTH   RIVER.  2G5 

"  Katryne,  there  is  Fort  Orange,  if  thou  mayst  wish 
to  see  it." 

She  said  it  in  her  placid,  stolid  way,  as  if  to  see  Fort 
Orange  were  a  daily  event,  and  might  not  concern 
Katryne. 

"  If  thou  mayst  wish  to  see  it  1"  Again  and  again 
she  had  been  crooking  her  neck  to  see  it.  Child  of  New 
Netherland  as  she  was,  it  made  her  blood  leap  to  see  a 
Dutch  flag  flying  above  the  walls  of  a  fort.* 

Diary.  — "  This  is  a  curious  place.  All  round  the  vil- 
lage goes  a  stout  fence  of  planks  and  palisades,  and  that  is 
to  keep  off  the  savages.  I  hear  about  them  all  the  time 
up  here.  It  is  '  Mohawk  !  Mohawk  !  Mohawk  !  '  or 
'  Down  at  the  Esopus,  Esopus  ! '  There  are  gates  in 
the  palisades,  so  that  I  can  get  out  when  once  1  have 
been  in.  Skipper  Brinckerhoff  says  he  would  have 
Vrouw  Brinckerhoff  and  me  to  stay  aboard  the  Bear's 
Paw,  for  he  is  afraid  of  the  small-pox  ;  but,  alack  ! 
alack  !  the  small-pox  is  not  afraid  of  him,  and  may  come 
where  he  is.f 

*  Standing,  one  recent  autumn  evening,  in  an  Albany  square,  with 
what  interest  did  I  read  a  tablet  inside  an  iron  fence  saying  that 
there  was  the  northeast  bastion  of  Fort  Orange  ! 

f  Fort  Orange  had  many  blows  from  this  old-time  scourge.  This 
is  the  testimony  in  a  letter  that  Vice-director  La  Montagne  wrote  from 
Fort  Orange,  November  4th,  1663  :  "  You  have  heard,  no  doubt,  of 
the  doleful  situation  of  this  place  as  respects  the  small-pox,  which 
is  still  daily  increasing.  I  learned  yesterday  that  on  the  hill  fifteen 
persons  were  so  affected  by  the  disease  that  they  could  not  afford 


266  BEHIND    MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

"  I  have  been  in  the  church.  It  is  built  like  a  block- 
house, and  has  three  cannon  on  top,  and  it  has  loopholes 
for  guns.  That  means  that  savages  might  come  from 
some  quarter,  and  the  settlers  are  ready  for  them.  They 
tell  about  our  good  Dominie  Megapolensis  when  he  was 
here.  He  went  among  the  savages,  and  preached  to 
them.  They  have  what  are  called  castles,  a  fence  of 
palisades,  and  their  houses  are  inside.  The  dominie  did 
not  fear  the  savages.*  Then  I  have  heard  about  his 
kindness  of  heart  to  the  Jesuit  missionary,  Isaac  Jogues, 
when  he  escaped  from  the  Mohawks  to  Fort  Orange. 
I  am  constrained  to  say  that  the  Lord's  people  ought  to 
be  kind  to  one  another.  If  we  only  knew  one  another 
better  and  loved  one  another  harder,  then  those  in  the 
old  Catholic  Church  and  we  who  are  of  the  Reformation 

any  relief  to  one  another.  At  Willem  Teller's  seven  are  afflicted 
with  it,  and  six  in  my  family,  my  negro  being  the  last.  Twelve 
persons  have  died  within  eight  days,  chiefly  children.  The  Lord 
God  help  us,  and  stop  its  farther  progress,  and  save  you  all  from 
such  a  foul,  putrid  disease."  (Albany  Records,  vol.  vi.,  fol.  409.) 

*  In  his  "  Short  Sketch  of  the  Mohawk  Indians,"  etc.  (1644),  Rev. 
Johannes  Megapolensis  speaks  of  his  familiar  intercourse  with  the 
children  of  the  forest,  for  whom  he  faithfully  toiled.  "  We  go  with 
them  into  the  woods,  we  meet  with  each  other,  sometimes  at  an 
hour  or  two's  walk  from  any  houses,  and  think  no  more  about  it 
than  if  we  met  with  a  Christian.  They  sleep  by  us,  too,  in  our 
chambers,  before  our  beds.  I  have  had  eight  at  once,  who  lay  and 
slept  upon  the  floor  near  my  bed,  for  it  is  their  custom  to  sleep  only 
on  the  bare  ground,  and  to  have  only  a  stone  or  a  piece  of  wood 
under  their  heads." 


UP  THE   NORTH    RIVER.  267 

would  not  have  trouble,  though  we  differ.  There  is 
Geertruyd  !  Verily,  we  differ  much,  but  we  love  one 
another  much,  and  we  care  less  for  our  differences.  Yes, 
up  here  it  is  the  *  savages  '  about  whom  I  hear  so  very 
much  talk.  They  talk  about  them  in  the  shops  and  out  on 
the  short  streets  that  go  to  the  palisades,  and  when  they 
go  to  the  church  in  the  block-house.  I  might  fear 
to  go  home  in  the  Bear's  Paw,  but  the  Bear's  Paw  is 
armed,  and  Skipper  Brinckerhoff  grows  red  in  the  face 
like  a  turkey-cock,  and  struts  round  and  is  very  dreadful, 
when  anybody  says  anything  about  attacking  him  on  the 
river.  We  leave  for  the  Manhattans*  to-morrow,  if  the 
wind  is  not  in  our  way,  and  if  there  are  no  savages  from 
the  Esopus  to  come  up  the  river  and  trouble  Fort 
Orange.  It  is  doleful  to  hear  about  them." 

The  Bear's  Paw  was  finally  swung  round  and  pointed 

*  This  was  a  common  way  of  speaking  of  the  settlement  at  New 
Amsterdam,  or  it  might  be  titled  the  island  of  the  Manhattans. 
Over  the  origin  of  this  term,  Manhattans,  a  dispute  has  arisen,  of 
course,  for  what  subject  has  not  its  two  sides  ?  Fortunate  is  the 
subject  that  has  only  two.  E.  G.  Brooks,  in  "  The  Story  of  New 
York,"  p.  15,  says  :  "  For  it  was  called  Manhattan,  Manhates,  Mona- 
toes,  Monados.  And  '  monadoes  '  is  a  Spanish  word,  signifying  the 
'  peace  of  drunken  men. '  "  As  Monados  he  calls  attention  to  the 
fact  that  this  island  appears  on  the  earliest  maps  of  American  dis- 
covery. E.  B.  O'Callaghan,  in  his  "  History  of  New  Netherland," 
vol.  i.,  p.  47,  speaks  of  the  "fierce  Manhattoe  or  Manhattans,  'a 
cruel  nation,'  who  held  their  council  fires  on  an  extensive  island  im- 
mediately south,  which,  retaining  their  name,  was  afterward  called 
Manhattans. ' ' 


268  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

toward  New  Amsterdam.  As  the  voyage  went  on,  and 
especially  as  the  Esopus  was  once  more  approached,  the 
wonder  grew  in  Katryne' s  breast  that  not  a  footprint  of 
Uncle  Pieter's  presence,  not  one  of  Geertruyd's  husband, 
had  been  found.  This,  though,  was  not  strange  in  a  coun- 
try where  intercommunication  was  so  difficult.  When 
the  war  was  laid  aside  in  the  autumn,  the  advantage  was 
with  the  Dutch.  Was  it  strange  that  it  should  be  so  ? 
War  between  the  weaker  and  the  stronger  will  not  show 
advantages  to  the  weaker.  Peace  was  finally  made  in 
the  spring. 

Uncle  Pieter  and  Harold  did  their  part  in  the  war 
bravely,  and  helped  one  another  to  bear  the  burdens  of 
the  campaign.  They  promptly  had  been  attracted  to 
each  other.  The  English  tongue  was  the  first  magnet 
of  attraction,  and  then  Uncle  Pieter  liked  "  the  boy" 
behind  the  English  tongue,  and  "the  boy"  liked  the  man. 
A  second  magnet  was  Katryne  Schuyler.  We  like  to 
hear  our  beloved  talked  about,  and  Harold's  chance  use 
of  her  name  as  a  patriotic  maiden  of  New  Amsterdam 
(did  she  not  urge  him  to  go  to  the  war  ?)  brought  out 
Uncle  Pieter's  opinion,  even  as  a  magnet  will  draw 
filings  of  steel  out  of  a  dust-heap. 

Then  thou  dost  esteem  her  highly,  sir  ?' '  asked  Harold. 

"  Esteem  her  highly  ?  I  love  that  girl.  I  tell  thee, 
lad,  I  know  of  no  person  that  I  love  so  dearly.  She 
has  been  the  making  of  me." 


UP   THE   NORTH    RIVER.  269 

On  the  other  hand,  Uncle  Pieter  saw  that  Harold 
thought  highly  of  Katryne. 

"  I  think,  lad,  that  Katryne  Schuyler  has  a  good 
friend  in  thee,"  declared  Uncle  Pieter. 

"  Oh,  she— she— she  is  patriotic.  Yes,  I  like  the 
maid." 

Common  worship  at  a  beloved  shrine  brought  these 
worshippers  together,  and  their  difference  in  years  for- 
bade a  separation  into  rivalry.  From  the  moment  of 
Harold's  confession  to  Uncle  Pieter  he  took  Harold  under 
his  soldier's  doublet.  Did  Uncle  Pieter  secure  any  dainty 
bit  of  food  ?  Harold  must  share  it,  though  it  might  be 
only  a  roasted  ear  of  corn.  Did  Uncle  Pieter  know 
anything  exciting  ?  He  must  halve  his  knowledge  with 
Harold.  Was  there  anything  special  that  Uncle  Pieter 
was  anticipating?  Harold  must  anticipate  it.  If  Uncle 
Pieter  had  any  advantage  by  way  of  equipments,  he 
must  divide  that  advantage  with  Harold.  Then  Uncle 
Pieter  assumed  a  fatherly  right  to  tell  Harold  about  a 
soldier's  life,  how  to  endure  its  hardships,  how  to  avoid 
its  mistakes,  how  to  become  familiar  with  its  daily  routine 
of  duties  ;  and  all  the  time  Katryne  was  the  special 
bond  to  tie  the  two  together. 

So  the  two  went  into  a  fight  side  by  side.  The  sav- 
ages fought  bravely.  One  that  Harold  sought  out  for 
his  bravery  had  sharp,  big  eyes  of  black,  and  he  was  in 
more  places  than  one.  Harold  finally  in  his  thoughts 
called  the  savage  "eyes."  He  lost  sight  of  him,  and 


270  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

waged  war  with  an  indiscriminate  mass.  Suddenly  that 
glaring  enemy  seemed  to  jump  up  out  of  the  ground,  and 
planting  himself  before  Harold,  swung  fiercely  his  cruel 
tomahawk.  Harold,  though,  could  not  seem  to  see  the 
tomahawk  or  the  arms  brandishing  it,  or  the  great  bulk 
of  flesh  behind  it,  but  everything  became  an  eye.  It  ab- 
sorbed into  itself  the  very  forest,  the  tumultuous  fight, 
the  sky  above,  the  earth  below,  and  down  before  the 
impetuous  charge  of  this  eye  went  Harold.  Down  into 
a  pit  of  darkness  he  tumbled.  When  he  awoke  he  was 
a  captive.  Around  him  were  savages.  A  squaw  came 
up  to  him  and  tenderly  bandaged  wounds  that  he  had 
received  in  his  head  and  in  his  breast.  Then  came  days 
of  pain  and  servitude  and  weary  marching.  Where  he 
was  exactly  he  knew  not,  but  he  had  reason  to  think  he 
was  not  far  from  the  North  Kiver.  He  knew  a  few 
Indian  words,  and  what  he  heard  led  him  to  that  con- 
clusion. If  he  could  only  reach  the  river,  some  vessel 
might  pick  him  up.  He  was,  though,  growing  weaker 
rather  than  stronger,  and  he  was  led  to  think  that  his  cap- 
tors were  asking  themselves  what  they  had  better  do 
with  him.  They  would  look  earnestly  at  him  and  then 
solemnly  jabber  away.  He  thought  one  man  wanted  to 
kill  him,  but  the  squaw  who  bandaged  his  wounds  always 
looked  kindly,  and  he  believed  that  she  wanted  to  save 
him. 

When  one  morning  he  found  food  and  water  near 
him,  but  no  sign  of  a  savage  was  anywhere  to  be  seen, 


UP  THE   NORTH    RIVER.  271 

he  knew  that  lie  had  been  abandoned,  and  some  one's 
kindness  had  left  him  sufficient  food  for  the  present  at 
least.  If  the  squaw,  she  had  put  a  space  of  several  days 
between  him  and  the  approach  of  starvation.  What 
was  to  be  done  ?  He  could  not  walk,  but  could  he  not 
crawl  ?  And,  hark  !  What  did  he  hear  ?  A  nigh-at-hand 
brook  was  tinkling  out  its  music,  and  where  did  the 
brook  go  ?  It  marched  to  the  sound  of  its  own  cheerful 
music,  perhaps  to  meet  some  stream  that  fell  into  the 
river  Hudson  had  made  known  to  the  world,  and  per- 
haps this  same  cheerful  forest-stream  went  to  Hudson's 
river  by  a  course  of  its  own.  He  followed  the  stream 
for  two  days,  crawling,  wearily  dragging  one  foot  after 
the  other.  Toward  the  close  of  the  second  day  he  fell 
over  a  rocky  ridge,  and  when  an  old  wound  was  struck 
he  thought  it  was  a  death-blow,  for  the  wound  opened, 
and  the  flowing  of  the  blood  so  weakened  him  that  he 
sank  into  a  long  swoon.  When  he  awoke,  day  was  gild- 
ing the  tree-tops,  and  the  bright,  warm  touch  of  the  light 
was  upon  the  brook  too  and  the  worn  young  soldier  near 
its  bank.  His  wound  had  ceased  bleeding.  He  ate  spar- 
ingly of  the  small  allowance  of  food  he  had  been  carry- 
ing along,  drank  of  the  brook,  and  cautiously  crawled 
on.  He  was  very  weak.  His  stages  of  resting  were 
longer  and  far  more  frequent  than  his  stages  of  crawling. 
Toward  sunset,  through  the  thinning  forest  burst  upon 
him  the  sight  of  a  widening  river.  He  was  on  a  rise  of 
ground,  and  looking  down  he  could  see  where  the  brook 


272  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

that  had  guided  him  fell  into  the  river  and  found  rest 
after  its  persistent  journey.  He,  too,  must  get  to  the 
river,  though  from  this  outlook  down  to  the  shore  must 
be  a  weary  little  journey  ;  and  there  was  a  vessel  com- 
ing !  No,  it  was  halting,  the  sails  were  tumbling,  and 
he  heard  the  clank  of  anchor-chains  falling.  Anchor- 
chains  never  had  specially  interested  him  before,  but 
they  now  made  music  sweeter  than  all  the  instruments 
he  had  ever  heard.  If  he  could  only  reach  that  vessel 
somehow  !  He  must,  he  would  get  to  it. 

The  excitement  of  hope  so  thrilled  him  that  he  forgot 
his  weakness,  and  he  went  on  impulsively,  carelessly, 
only  to  fall  again  and  see  his  wounds  bleeding  once 
more.  He  stanched  them  as  well  as  lie  could,  then 
struggled  forward,  only  to  be  conscious  of  a  growing 
weakness  that  made  him  halt  when  half-way  down  to 
the  brink  of  the  river.  Advance  was  hopeless.  Pain 
as  well  as  weakness  stopped  him.  Oh,  it  was  hard  to 
be  in  sight  of  rescue  and  yet  fail  and  die  !  Did  nobody 
see  him  ?  Could  not  help  from  any  quarter  get  to 
him  ?  Did  not  his  mother  above  look  down  and  pity  ? 
What  was  it  she  said  about  praying  for  him  ?  In  that 
other  world,  did  she  pray  ?  If  so,  would  not  prayer  be 
of  some  avail  ?  Would  he  have  help  through  her  if 
he  did  the  only  thing  now  left  him,  if  he  raised  his 
voice  and  tried  to  call  for  aid  ? 

"  May  my  mother's  prayer  be  heard  !"  he  murmured, 
and  then  he  shouted,  "  Help-p-p  !" 


UP  THE   NORTH   EIVEB.  273 

There  was  no  response,  unless  the  wind  moaning  ere  it 
died  with  the  sun,  could  be  said  to  have  responded.  He 
called  once  more,  "  Help  p-p  !"  Then  he  lay  in  still- 
ness, his  face  turned  toward  that  waiting  vessel,  and  he 
saw — what  did  his  eyes  rest  upon  ?  It  was  a  woman's 
form  leaning  over  the  rail,  and  looking  across  the  glassy 
waters  toward  his  resting-place  !  Did  his  mother  lean 
in  that  attitude  ?  Did  Katryne  Schuyler  sometimes 
bend  over  in  that  fashion  ?  Did  this  woman  suddenly 
throw  up  her  hands  and  wave  them  as  if  in  response, 
then  rush  away  ?  He  saw  nothing  more. 

The  Bear's  Paw,  having  carried  a  miscellaneous  cargo 
to  Fort  Orange,  had  swung  about,  heading  for  New 
Amsterdam,  purposing  to  enrich  it  with  its  contribu- 
tion of  skins  of  animals  and  produce  of  the  fields  like 
grain.  Katryne  enjoyed  the  trip,  but  she  was  burdened 
with  disappointment,  because  she  had  heard  nothing  of 
the  two  soldiers  who  went  to  the  Indian  war  and  took 
so  much  of  Katryue  Schuyler  with  them. 

One  more  day  had  passed  away  like  other  days,  bring- 
ing the  sight  of  a  stately  river,  of  beautiful  but  unculti- 
vated lands,  and  over  in  the  western  sky,  the  Catskills 
piled  up  their  azure  suggestions  of  the  King's  palaces. 
The  sun  was  now  going  down  ;  and  how  still  it  was 
along  the  river  !  To-day  the  whistle  of  a  rushing  steam- 
boat or  the  roar  of  railroad  trains  will  make  the  river 
valley  noisy  ;  then  there  was  the  stillness  of  a  tomb — 


274  BEHIND   MANHATTAN  GABLES. 

not  its  gloom  though.  The  clear  light  in  the  west  looked 
cold,  but  it  turned  to  warm  gold  the  surface  of  the  river. 
With  this  splendor  resting  on  the  surface  of  the  river 
came  a  stillness  like  that  in  the  Apocalypse,  when  for  a 
half  hour  the  glories  of  the  heavenly  place  seemed  to 
bring  a  hush  of  wonder.  How  still  it  was  down  amid 
this  glory  on  the  river's  face  ! 

Katryne,  leaning  over  the  side  of  the  vessel  that  had 
anchored  for  the  night,  watched  the  splendor,  fascinated 
by  its  beauty,  while  appalled  by  the  almost  preternatural 
hush.  The  crew  were  below.  Skipper  Brinckerhoff 
had  a  lonely  post  up  in  the  stern.  Katryne  leaned  over 
the  rail  and  watched.  So  still  it  was,  it  seemed  to  her 
as  if  she  could  have  heard  the  breathing  of  any  living 
thing  upon  the  Bear's  Paw.  A  fish  leaped  out  of  the 
water  and  with  a  splash  fell  back  into  the  river,  and  it 
sounded  more  like  the  crash  of  a  boulder  falling  from  a 
near  mountain-slope.  Suddenly  Katryne  sprang  to  her 
feet  and  threw  back  her  head,  while  her  eyes  flashed 
and  her  hands  were  held  out  in  horror. 

* '  "W  hat  is  that  ?"  she  asked.  ' '  Somebody  in  trouble  ? 
Somebody  calling  ?  It  sounds  like  Harold  Wharton  !" 

There  are  moments,  it  may  be  in  the  night,  when  to 
our  strangely  awakened  senses  it  may  seem  as  if  we 
could  see  miles  into  the  darkness,  or  could  hear  beyond 
Time  and  into  eternity.  Katryne  was  listening.  She 
was  sure  she  heard  a  second  call  from  the  shore. 

Skipper  Brinckerhoff  was  stolidly  smoking.     She  went 


UP  THE   NORTH    RIVER.  275 

to  him  and  spoke  so  abruptly  that  it  startled  him.  He 
dropped  his  pipe,  and  whenever  before  had  he  parted  so 
readily  from  his  beloved  while  dirty  idol  ? 

"  Skipper  Brinckerhoff,  there  is  somebody  in  trouble 
on  the  shore.  Wilt  thou  not  launch  a  boat  ?" 

"  I  did  not  hear  anything.  Oh,  a  fish  leaped  out  of 
the  river." 

"  I  heard  somebody  calling  for  help." 

The  skipper  shook  his  head.  "  Put  off  in  a  boat  ? 
Not  to  chase  fireflies." 

"  Skipper  Brinckerhoff,  this  vessel  is  mostly  owned  by 
the  father  of  my  dearest  friend,  Geertruyd  Smidt,  and  he 
invited  me,  and  if  thou  hast  not  a  boat  launched  thou  wilt 
want  a  vessel  to  launch  one  from."  She  straightened 
up,  and  looked  and  commanded  like  a  queen. 

"  Oh,  yah — yah  !"  growled  the  skipper.  He  gave 
orders  for  the  launching  of  the  boat.  But  who  of  the 
crew  would  go  ?  Somebody  looked  ashore  and  mut- 
tered "  Savages  !"  and  then  nobody  stirred. 

"I  will  go  alone,"  said  Katryne  proudly.  "I  can 
row/' 

She  climbed  over  the  vessel's  rail. 

"  Ho,  missus,  me  go,  too  !"  It  was  the  big  cook, 
and  he  dropped  promptly  into  the  boat.  "  Me  row, 
you  paddle,"  he  said,  taking  the  oars  from  Katryne. 

Those  on  board  the  Bear's  Paw  silently  watched  the 
boat.  Its  little  crew  had  one  sympathizer,  Yrouw 
Brinckerhoff. 


276  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

"  Heer,  mynheer,"  she  cried,  "  see  him  row  !" 

Such  long,  powerful  strokes  as  the  cook  took  ! 

"  See  her  paddle  !"  cried  the  vrouw. 

Katryne  paddled  like  an  Indian  squaw. 

Skipper  Brinckerhorf  only  growled  :  "  A  chase  after 
Skipper  Hudson's  goblins  !" 

The  boat  was  beached. 

"  Me  go  and  hunt,"  said  Wubbit,  as  they  stepped 
from  the  boat. 

"  No,  no,  I  thank  thee  ;  thou  shalt  wait  !" 

She  held  him  back  and  then  went  forward  alone, 
more  like  a  hound  eagerly  searching  for  a  trail,  every 
sense  projected  far  into  the  forest,  eyes  searching,  ears 
strained  to  catch  every  sound.  It  was  not,  though,  the 
instinct  of  an  animal  that  was  aroused  ;  it  was  the  love 
of  a  warm,  eager  heart,  moving  out  into  the  wilderness 
to  seek  the  beloved  only.  The  land,  though,  was  as 
empty  as  it  was  still.  Oh,  was  he  not  to  be  found  any- 
where ?  She  stopped.  She  lifted  her  face  toward  the  tree- 
tops,  and  then,  gathering  up  all  the  powers  of  her  voice, 
sent  out  a  clear,  strong,  impassioned  call,  "  Har-r-r-old  !" 

Hark  !  She  bent  forward  to  listen.  Her  eyes  seemed 
to  be  pressing  from  their  lids.  Her  ears  quivered  in 
the  effort  of  hearing.  Suddenly  a  late  songster  dropped 
into  the  depths  of  that  sea  of  stillness  a  final,  sweet  note 
of  the  twilight,  and  an  envious  crow  responded,  "  Caw, 
caw,"  and  Katryne  became  conscious  that  a  brook  some- 
where was  purling  over  the  rocks. 


UP  THE   NORTH    KIVEE.  277 

"  Oh,  bush  !"  her  pleading  face  seemed  to  say  to  the 
bird  of  the  twilight,  to  the  envious  crow,  to  the  purling 
stream,  "  bush  !  hush  !"  And  then  once  more  she 
called,  pitifully,  pleadingly,  "  Har-r-r-old  !" 

How  she  listened  !  She  bent  forward,  her  hands  wav- 
ing as  if  to  still  every  interrupting  bird  and  brook,  and 
there  came  a  faint,  human  cry.  She  flew  as  if  winged. 
She  ran  as  if  for  life — her  life — but  really  for  his  life,  and 
there  he  was,  almost  prostrate,  but  half  crouching,  as  if 
he  would  crawl  again.  She  bent  down  to  him.  She 
raised  him  as  if  a  child  in  her  arms.  He  did  not  have 
the  weight  he  once  had,  and  then  there  was  a  strength 
that  came  to  her  with  the  need  of  the  hour. 

"  It  will  be  given  to  me,"  she  said,  looking  up  through 
the  red  and  golden  woods  to  the  blue  sky. 

She  had  not  carried  her  charge  far  when  the  cook  met 
her. 

"  Lemme  hab  him,  missus." 

She  shook  her  head  and  motioned  to  him  to  move  on. 
Through  the  autumn  woods  she  slowly  went,  the  red 
and  yellow  leaves  as  they  fell  dropping  a  shining  crown 
on  this  unconscious  heroism.  At  the  edge  of  the  forest, 
as  the  river  opened  before  her  feet,  she  yielded  her 
burden  to  the  arms  of  the  cook,  and  he  laid  the  young 
soldier  gently  in  the  stern  of  the  boat.  The  oars  were 
taken  up,  but  not  the  paddle.  She  rested  Harold's 
head  in  her  lap,  caressing  the  brow  once  bronzed  by  the 
sun,  but  pale  now  from  wasting  sickness.  She  lifted 


278  BEHIND    MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

the  heavily  drooping  locks  from  his  eyes,  and  again 
gently  stroked  his  forehead. 

"  Thou  art  with  friends  who  love  thee,"  she  began  to 
say,  but  he  opened  his  eyes  in  grateful  recognition  when 
she  was  about  to  say  "  friends."  Startled,  she  now  said 
this  in  the  tones  of  the  professional  nurse,  and  stopped. 
He  closed  his  eyes,  and  was  he  not  asleep  ? 

"  Poor  fellow,  poor  fellow  !"  she  murmured,  and 
there  was  nothing  professional  in  this.  It  was  a  tone 
tender  and  sympathetic,  and  it  took  on  a  shade  of  ad- 
miration as  she  whispered,  "  Brave,  brave  fellow,  we 
all  praise  thee." 

She  could  say  this  to  one  asleep,  but  he,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  so  secretly  conscious  of  every  word  and  tone, 
that  not  for  the  world  would  he  have  opened  his  eyes 
and  startled  out  of  her  eyes  the  love-look  there,  timid  as 
a  fawn's  glance.  He  was  hers,  hers,  hers,  wholly  and 
forever.  She  felt  so  while  he  was  asleep. 

The  transfer  from  the  boat  to  the  Bear's  Paw  was 
quickly  made.  In  the  morning  it  lifted  its  worn  sails  to 
the  breeze,  saluting  it,  and  moved  down  the  river. 

All  the  voyage  to  Katryne  was  most  memorable. 
Through  the  dearest  memories  of  her  life  henceforth 
wound  the  current  of  a  beautiful  river,  now  running 
between  solitary,  imposing  highlands,  then  broadening 
out  and  flowing  between  low-lying  shores.  But  though 
the  river  had  ever  a  lonely  look,  there  went  with  it  a 
sense  of  delightful  companionship  with  one  to  whom  she 


'SHE  BENT  OVER  HIM."     (Page 277.) 


UP   THE   NORTH.  RIVER.  279 

had  really  given  her  soul,  though  there  was  no  recogni- 
tion of  any  such  surrender.  She  did  not  allow  it  to  her- 
self, as  the  friend  of  Geertruyd  Smidt,  and  yet  actually  to 
look  at  him,  to  touch  him,  to  bathe  his  brow,  to  care  for 
his  wounds,  to  bring  a  fresh  pillow  and  lay  it  beneath  his 
weary  head,  was  like  the  taking  in  of  delicious  drafts 
that  met  and  satisfied  a  thirst  within  her  soul.  And  he 
was  content  thus  to  be  nursed. 

Ko,  one  tiling  more  he  craved,  some  spoken  assurance 
that  she  loved  him.  She  suspected  it,  noticing  less  what 
he  said  than  the  language  which  is  conveyed  by  the 
eyes.  As  Geertruyd's  friend,  could  she  permit  it  ?  He 
might  love  with  his  eyes,  but  not  with  his  tongue. 

"  Dost  thou  know  how  much  I  think  of — "  he  had 
begun  to  say,  but  she  laid  a  hand  upon  his  lips.  How 
delightful  it  was  to  feel  the  pressure  of  that  hand  !  It 
was  Love's  lifting  of  its  goblet  to  his  lips,  only  to  be 
withdrawn,  for  she  added  : 

"  Thou  must  not  talk,  for  thou  art  yet  in  the  hospital." 

This  was  the  remonstrance  of  prudence,  and  he  sub- 
mitted. Within  a  few  hours  he  began  to  talk  in  the 
same  way,  when  she  suddenly  interposed  the  declaration 
that  she  must  leave  him  and  find  something.  She  would 
return  when  she  had  found  it.  A  third  time  he  began, 
and  made  a  plea  : 

"  May  I  say  something  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  I  want  to  tell  thee  how  much  I  love — " 


280  BEHIND    MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

She  held  up  her  hand  as  if  staying  him.  "Would  Ka- 
trjne  take  advantage  of  circumstances  and  steal  away 
the  love  of  Geertruyd's  husband  ? 

She  abruptly  rose,  and  without  a  word  of  explanation 
left  the  cabin,  for  she  could  find  no  excuse  within,  and 
without  there  was  no  object  that  she  could  have  said  that 
she  needed  and  must  hunt  up.  When  she  did  come 
back,  there  were  tears  of  disappointment  in  his  eyes. 
He  attributed  both  oddity  and  cruelty  to  her.  He  did 
not  know  that  for  several  minutes  she  had  been  trying  to 
wipe  dry  her  sympathetic  eyes  and  give  them  a  cold  and 
unyielding  look,  as  became  the  eyes  of  Geertruyd's 
friend.  And  so  they  moved  toward  New  Amster- 
dam. 

Katryne's  first  sight  of  it  was  early  in  the  day.  She 
had  gone  out  to  "hunt  up  the  morning,"  as  she  told 
Vrouw  Brinckerhoff,  so  long  it  seemed  in  coming.  She 
faced  the  east.  A  bank  of  mist  prevented  the  good 
look  at  the  sun  that  she  had  anticipated.  All  along  the 
eastern  horizon  there  was  a  broad  fold  of  dull  lavender. 
Suddenly  through  that  mass  of  vapor  some  distance 
above  the  horizon,  glowed  a  coal.  It  was  as  if  some  one 
raking  in  last  night's  grate  should  reach  a  bit  of  the 
hidden  fire,  and  it  shines  through  its  ashy  envelope. 

In  the  cloud-heap,  changing  more  and  more  in  color 
till  it  became  like  an  ash-heap,  that  one  coal  was  very 
insignificant,  just  a  tiny  red  coal.  It  sharpened  and 
then  grew  ;  it  lengthened  ;  it  heightened  ;  it  swelled 


UP  THE   NORTH    RIVER.  281 

into  a  semi-sphere  of  fire  ;  it  was  soon  a  disk  of  clear 
flame  in  a  warm,  reddish  sky. 

Katryne  was  so  much  interested  in  this  scene  that  she 
had  not  looked  at  the  shore  under  the  cloud-bank,  and 
there  she  saw  suddenly  a  windmill.  She  clapped  her 
hands  ;  she  gave  a  faint  scream  ;  she  saw,  too,  a  flag 
flying  from  a  staff,  folds  of  orange,  white  and  blue  ! 

"  Oh,  the  fort,  the  fort  !  Dear  old  Fort  Amster- 
dam !"  she  exclaimed,  and  then  the  roofs  of  New  Am- 
sterdam quickly  came  in  sight,  the  gables  with  steps 
climbing  skyward.  Could  she  see  her  beloved  ga- 
ble ? 

Compared  with  the  settlements  up  the  river,  this  city 
by  the  harbor  front  was  so  grand  !  Farther  along  she 
saw  the  shipping,  and  how  imposing  was  its  array  of 
eight  ships  by  the  side  of  the  two  sloops  found  at  Fort 
Orange  !  Then  when,  in  the  first  boat  load,  Katryne, 
Harold,  and  Yrouw  Brinckcrhoff  went  ashore,  Katryne 
gave  a  glance  up  the  canal  in  De  Heeren  Graft,  and 
there  she  saw  six  barges  loaded  with  goods  from  the  out- 
side world  pressing  up  toward  the  warehouses  and  shops 
of  New  Amsterdam.  All  the  commerce  of  the  world 
would  soon  be  begging  for  a  chance  to  trade  with  New 
Amsterdam.  Above  all  things  else,  this  was  home. 
Katryne  loved  New  Amsterdam.  She  went  to  her  room 
behind  the  gable  of  black  and  yellow  bricks.  But 
where  did  Geertruyd's  husband  go  ?  He  told  Katryne 
that  Uncle  Pieter  had  informed  him  where  his  Uncle 


282  BEHIND    MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

Robert  had  lived,  and  that  he  owned  the  house  in  which 
Harold  had  taken  refuge  in  New  Amsterdam. 

"  I  go  to  my  uncle's  house,  my  Uncle  Robert's  ;  and 
is  it  not  strange  ?  The  old  slave  there,  our  cook,  is  my 
uncle's,  and  that  name  of  the  cook,  which  is  so  queer, 
Wubbit,  is  only  the  name  of  my  Uncle  Robert,  bor- 
rowed by  his  servant  and  rounded  down.  Wubbit  will 
take  care  of  me  until  my  uncle  gets  back  from  Boston, 
where  he  has  gone.  Yes,  Wubbit  will  care  for  a  sick 
soldier. ' ' 

"  May  I  not  care  for  thee,  too,  mynheer  ?"  broke 
from  Katryne's  lips.  Then  her  face  colored  at  the 
thought  of  her  impulsive  interest  in  Geertruyd's  hus- 
band, and  she  wanted  to  recall  the  words.  What  a 
traitor  to  her  trusting  friend  ! 

"  Oh,  do  care  for  me  !"  was  Harold's  plea,  de- 
lighted to  have  this  one  draft  of  hope  to  lessen  his 
thirst. 

And  Geertruyd  ?  She  had  gone  in  the  lumbering 
family-ark  across  the  island  of  the  Manhattans  to  New 
Haerlem,  there  to  be  absent  a  long,  long  while,  nurs- 
ing sick  relatives  in  that  sleepy  little  nook.  So  Ka- 
tryne,  in  loyalty  to  Geertruyd,  was  obliged  to  take  a 
friendly  interest  in  the  sick  soldier  in  the  care  of  Wubbit 
the  negro. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

THE    STOCKINGS    HUNG  IN  THE  CHIMNEY. 

DECEMBER  had  come,  bringing  two  festivals  very  dear  to 
New  Amsterdam,  one  of  which  was  the  much-loved  Christ- 
mas. The  Reformation,  when  it  came  to  the  old  Church  in 
Holland,  did  not  bring  with  it  any  desire  to  separate  itself 
from  such  a  festival  as  Christmas.  Into  the  cold  winter 
days  it  carried  the  sunny  associations  of  Christmas-tide, 
making  that  warm  summer-atmosphere  of  love  in  which 
grow  all  things  beautiful.  This  warm  breath  swept 
over  the  waters  and  came  to  New  jSTetherland,  and  every 
year  in  December  was  sure  to  come  again  and  ensphere 
the  little  Dutch  city  in  a  sweet  and  brotherly  mood. 

Another  dear  December  festival  was  that  of  St.  Niko- 
laas,  who  is  said  to  have  given  a  figure-head  to  the  first  ship 
bringing  emigrants  to  the  island  of  the  Manhattans,  who 
gave,  too,  a  name  to  the  church  in  the  fort.  Mary  L. 
Booth  says  :  "He  has  ever  since  been  regarded  as  hav- 
ing especial  charge  of  the  destinies  of  his  favorite  city." 
Clara  Erskine  Clement,  in  her  "  Handbook  of  Legendary 
and  Mythological  Art,"  has  hung  this  wreath  about  the 
name  of  this  historic  saint  :  "  He  is  patron  of  children, 
and  schoolboys  in  particular,  of  poor  maidens,  of  sailors, 


284  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"   CABLES. 

travellers,  and  merchants."      What  wonder  that  he  is 
popular  !     This  December  saint,  in  New  Amsterdam, 
was  the  children's  property  peculiarly,  just  as  to-day  they 
claim  and  love  him  as  Santa  Glaus.     The  fancy  in  Santa 
Glaus  is  Dutch.     It  is  a  Dutch  team  riding  through  tl 
cold   December  night-air,  bringing  in  an  elastic  sleig; 
that  can  stretch  to  a  boundless  capacity,  various  bundles 
of  gifts  for  his  big,  admiring  family. 

The  afternoon  preceding  the  night  when  he  was  con- 
fidently expected  at  New  Amsterdam,  there  arrived  a 
great  cloud  of  white  wings,  as  if  of  heralds  to  announce 
his  joyful  coming.  Everywhere  these  wings  were  fold- 
ing down  upon  the  earth.  Yes,  snow  was  dropping  on 
all  the  wide  fields,  in  the  far,  great  forests,  along  the 
silent  wastes  bordering  the  stately  river  coming  down 
from  the  north,  upon  the  slopes  of  the  mountains  in 
whose  recesses,  according  to  Dutch  fable,  Hendrik  Hud- 
son and  his  spectral  crew  must  have  been  Blumberously 
waiting  for  summer  ere  they  would  roll  again  their  rever- 
berating balls  of  thunder  across  the  sky.  Snow,  too,  in 
the  little  Dutch  city  on  the  tip  of  Manhattan  Island,  on 
the  houses  with  their  antique  gables  and  tiled  roofs  on 
the  Stadt  Huys,  on  the  stout  warehouses  of  the  Dutch 
West  India  Company,  on  the  muddy  canal  and  its  bat- 
tered barges,  on  the  ships  in  port,  coating  their  worn  old 
rigging  and  decks  with  purest  alabaster.  Snow  on  all 
the  streets,  like  De  Brouwer  Straat,  where  the  brewers 
made  beer,  and  De  Bever  Graft,  where  beavers  once 


THE    STOCKINGS   HUNG    IN   THE   CHIMNEY.  285 

had  kept  house  stained  and  soiled  at  times,  but  now 
floored  with  silver.  Snow  on  the  people's  garments,  on 
the  steeple-crowned  hats  of  the  men  and  the  bright 
hoods  of  the  women,  on  the  velvet  garments  of  the  rich 
and  the  linsey-woolsey  sacks  and  skirts  of  the  poor,  the 
white  flakes  powdering  impartially  the  Heer  Director 
and  some  humble  sailor  Jan  who  had  come  across  the 
sea,  till  it  seemed  as  if  a  great  cargo  of  soft  white  furs  in 
a  multitude  of  savage-canoes  had  come  to  town — furs 
offered  to  everybody,  and  to  everybody  given. 

Geertruyd  and  Katryne  were  affected  differently  by 
snow-storms.  Geertruyd  shrank  from  rough  winds  and 
the  cold  coming  with  them.  She  shrank  close  to  the  big 
fireplace,  with  its  sooty  hooks  and  trammels,  its  mazes  of 
pots  and  kettles,  and  drawing  up  her  wheel  before  the 
blazing,  roaring  fire,  spun  away  as  if  the  life  of  all  New 
Amsterdam  depended  on  the  whirring  revolutions  of 
that  wheel.  She  looked  very  pretty  always  in  her  white 
cap  and  spotless  collar,  but  specially  becoming  was  a 
winter  dress  worn  as  if  it  were  spring,  and  encouraging  a 
harmless  delusion,  a  dress  where  vines  of  green  with 
flowers  of  blue  were  climbing  over  a  light  straw  ground- 
work up  toward  her  approving  smile.  Geertruyd  wantea 
snow  to  come  to-day,  but  it  must  melt  to-morrow.  She 
shrank  away  from  arctic  approaches. 

Katryne  was  aroused  by  the  winter.  She  now  ran  to 
the  door,  stepped  out  upon  the  stoop  and  held  up  her  hands 
coaxingly  to  the  soft,  white,  furry  wings  coming  from 


286  BEHIND    MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

the  sky,  and  rejoiced  over  every  short-lived  prisoner  she 
could  take.  She  wanted  to  accept  the  twilight  chal- 
lenge of  winter's  hoarse  trumpets,  and  go  out  and  brave 
wind  and  cold  and  drifting  snow.  In  like  spirit  she  hailed 
an  arctic  Sunday.  She  would  pack  her  little  foot-stove 
with  coals,  and  then  bear  it  to  the  church  in  the  fort.  So 
cold,  it  might  be  that  in  the  unwarmed  church  some  big 
burgher's  breath  might  suggest  smoke  from  the  chimney 
of  a  vrouw  getting  ready  for  the  New  Year's  goodies.* 
Katryne  though,  her  foot-stove  under  her,  furs  about 
her,  hood  upon  her  head,  was  cold-proof,  and  conqueror 
of  the  winter.  She  now  started  out  for  a  walk  through 
the  flakes  to  Adam  Srnidt's.  She  and  Geertruyd,  when 
St.  Nikolaas  was  about  to  visit  his  much-loved  chimneys, 
had  always  remembered  one  another's  "  stockings,"  even 
from  childhood.  Katryne  to-day  not  only  wished  to 
bear  something  to  Geertruyd's  father,  but  take  back 
some  word  of  comfort  about  the  young  nurse  up  in  the 
New  Haerlem  hamlet. 

Adam  Smidt  from  the  door  of  his  shop  saw  Katryne, 
before  whose  fair  face  the  snow  let  fall  its  flakes  as  if 
the  tracery  of  a  bridal  veil. 

*  In  his  History  of  the  City  of  Albany,  p.  193,  Arthur  James 
Weise  has  said  that  "  personal  comfort  often  compelled  two  old- 
time  ministers  to  preach  with  their  woollen  caps  on  their  heads  and 
their  gloves  on  their  hands.  The  men  in  the  congregation  wore 
their  hats  and  caps,  and  many  brought  muffs  in  which  they  kept 
their  hands." 


THE    STOCKINGS   HUNG    IN   THE   CHIMNEY.  287 

"  She  would  be  puffed  up  if  she  knew  how  goodly 
were  her  looks, "  thought  Adam.  "  Welcome,  welcome, 
Katryne  !"  he  cried,  holding  out  both  hands.  "  1  did 
not  think  to  see  thee  in  this  storm.  The  snow  is  thick- 
ening, and  the  saint's  runners  will  make  no  noise,  verily, 
in  this  snow.  Come  in,  come  in  !" 

They  entered  the  store. 

"  And  what  tidings  from  New  Haerlem  ?  How 
fares  my  Geertruyd  ?" 

"  Word  came  down  this  forenoon  that  the  sick  are  no 
better,  and  if  our  saint  should  step  down  into  the 
chimney  of  that  farm,  he  will  find  Geertruyd  busy  with 
something  beside  stockings.  She  is  well ;  and  at  thy 
house,  how  are  they  ?" 

"  My  mother,  she  is  tired  all  the  time.  We  have  a 
negro  servant  to  help  about  the  work.  My  father  is  well. " 

"  Hans  ?    I  warrant  thee.     He  parts  with  no  flesh." 

"  I  have  brought  a  parcel  for  Geertruyd's  stocking, 
to  make  sure  that  it  is  not  forgotten." 

1 '  And  here,  Katry ne,  is  thine,  in  case  the  saint  should 
get  stuck  in  a  snowdrift." 

He  hummed  a  tune  and  turned  toward  his  shelves. 
They  were  not  very  well  filled,  for  in  anticipation 
of  the  needs  of  St.  Nikolaas'  chimney-team,  there 
had  been  a  brisk  demand  upon  the  goods  of  Adam. 
"  Ah  !  here  is  a  pretty  white  scarf  of  silk.  Stupid 
Adam,  thou  art  telling  what  the  present  will  be  !"  he 
cried.  "  Never  mind  thou,  Katryne.  Stuff  this  in  thy 


288  BEHIND   MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

stocking.  It  is  from  Geertruyd.  She  told  ine  what  to 
get — and — and  this  thou  mayest  keep  for  Katryne,  or 
Katryne  may  give  it  away." 

The  second  gift  was  a  scarf  of  blue. 

"Thy  name  is  St.  Nikolaas,"  exclaimed  she,  de- 
lighted. "  I  thank  thee. "  She  now  hurried  away, 
for  she  knew  that  though  Lysbet  would  never  worry 
even  if  the  chimney-saint  were  forced  to  drive  his 
team  through  drifts  ten  feet  high,  she  would  be  uneasy 
if  Katryne  were  not  in  the  house  ere  the  suowflakes 
went  out  of  sight  in  the  thickening  shadows  of  the  night. 

There  was  a  St.  Nikolaas  hymn  sung  by  the  children 
at  night,  and  it  might  be  before  the  family  chimney, 
and  if  the  household  had  a  goodly  share  of  young 
folks  as  in  Jan  Steen's  beautiful  seventeenth-century 
picture  of  the  Feast  of  St.  Nikolaas,  sweet  would  be 
the  chorus.  Katryne  and  Geertruyd  had  been  wont 
to  keep  up  childhood's  custom,  hanging  their  stockings, 
and  they  also  helped  one  another  in  this  singing.  It  would 
be  a  chorus  of  two  singing  first  before  one  chimney,  it 
might  be  that  of  the  Smidts,  and  then  before  the  Schuyler 
tiles. 

Hark  !  hark  !  Can  you  not  hear  two  sweet  voices 
echoing  before  a  big-mouthed  chimney,  addressing  the 
saint  as  if  he  had  arrived,  and  his  ruddy  ear  were  laid 
just  above  the  chimney's  top-layer  of  brick  ?  But  who 
would  sing  with  Katryne  to-night  ?  She  could  not  think 
of  any  one,  not  even  of  a  volunteer  adult.  Lysbet  was 


THE   STOCKINGS  HUNG  IN  THE   CHIMNEY.  280 

ailing  and  in  bed,  and  Hans,  when  he  sang,  had  the  croak 
of  a  bullfrog.  Was  there  not  some  young  canary  bird  in 
the  neighborhood  ?  Who  was  it  that  met  Katryne  near  the 
Schuyler  stoop  ?  It  was  Annetje  Claessen  on  her  way 
to  a  tea-drinking.  She  had  a  sweet,  full  voice,  though 
her  face  was  sharp  and  thin.  She  was  of  Katryne's  age, 
and  a  very  witchy-looking  maid,  with  big,  inquiring 
eyes  of  light  blue  and  with  hair  a-flying.  She  wore 
to-night  a  white,  short-skirted  dress,  scarlet  hose,  a  scar- 
let cape,  and  a  comical  scarlet  hood.  She  looked  as  if 
just  out  of  a  witch-haunt  and  on  her  way  to  a  witch-race 
through  the  air  and  round  the  shores  of  Fresh  Pond. 
A  broom  would  have  made  her  outfit  complete. 

"Annetje!  Annetje!"  cried  Katryne,  "wilt  thou 
not  come  in  with  me  one  moment  and  sing  the  Saint 
Nikolaas  hymn  before  our  chimney  ?" 

There  had  been  times  when  Annetje's  parents  had  not 
allowed  her  to  sing  this  hymn  or  have  a  stocking  hung 
to  catch  the  saint's  gifts,  for  in  those  days  St.  Mkolaas 
was  never  known  to  remember  an  unruly  child,  and  the 
fear  of  omission  was  made  a  feature  of  the  discipline  of 
youth.  There  had  been  occasions  in  the  lives  of  Katryne 
and  Annetje  when  the  two  had  helped  one  another  out 
of  some  mischievous  tangle,  and  certainly  Annetje  would 
aid  her  friend  in  this  good  hour. 

"  With  all  my  heart,  Katryne  !"  cried  Annetje. 

It  was  a  fascinating  picture,  and  worthy  of  a  brush  as 
artistic  as  that  of  Jan  Steen's.  There  was  the  blooming 


290  BEHIND    MANHATTAN"   GABLES. 

Katiyne.  There  was  the  sharp-faced,  big-eyed,  scarlet- 
hooded  witch,  Annetje.  There  was  the  hearth  from 
which  the  flames  were  leaping  up  as  if  to  vault  over  in- 
visible bars  in  the  chimney.  Hanging  from  the  mantel 
was  a  row  of  stockings  to  be  filled  when  the  chimney 
was  dark  and  only  comfortably  warm,  and  the  saint 
could  squeeze  his  way  harmlessly  down  to  those  waiting 
stockings.  The  hymn  musically  rose  :* 

"  Saint  Nikolaas,  good,  holy  man, 
Put  your  best  tabard  on  you  can, 
And  in  it  go  to  Amsterdam  ; 
From  Amsterdam  to  Hispanje, 
Where  apples  bright  of  orange, 
And  likewise  those,  pomegranates  named, 
Roll  through  the  streets  all  unreclaimed. 
Saint  Nikolaas,  my  dear,  good  friend, 
To  serve  you  ever  was  my  end  : 
If  you  me  now  some  thing  will  give, 
Serve  you  I  will  long  as  I  live." 

The  last  note  flew  with  the  sparks  up  the  broad  chim- 
ney, and  Annetje  turned  to  go. 

"  1  thank  thee,"  said  Katryne,  following  her  neighbor 
to  the  door,  and  then  lingering  on  the  stoop  and  looking 
up  to  the  ever-falling  yet  never  fallen  canopy  of  snow- 
flakes.  "  I  did  not  want  to  leave  out  that  hymn.  What 
a  snowy  night  !  I  wish  thee  much  joy  at  the  tea- drink- 
ing, and  many  presents  in  thy  stocking.  Here  is  some- 
thing to  go  in  it. " 

*  Translated  by  D.  T.  Valentine. 


THE    STOCKINGS   HUNG   IN   THE   CHIMNEY.  291 

It  was  a  bit  of  Delft  ware,  a  little  image  of  a  youthful 
shepherdess. 

"I  thank  thee,  Katryne." 

"  Oh,  dear,"  sighed  Katryne. 

"  What  is  on  thy  mind  ?"  asked  Annetje. 

"  1  was  thinking  how  many  rnay  be  without  a  thing 
in  their  stockings,  and  some  without  a  stocking  even. 
Oh,  there  !" 

"  And  what  is  on  thy  mind  now,  Katryne  ?" 

"  Why,  I  am  thinking  of  a  pair  of  stockings  that  I 
might  give  away.  I  always  knit  a  pair  for  my  father, 
but  this  winter  I  knit  an  extra  pair,  and  I  know  where 
I  can  give  it,  and  I  will  make  a  bundle  of  it  and  go 
along  with  thee.  Tarry  for  me,  Annetje." 

This  second  pair  of  hose  had  been  built  after  the  same 
pattern  as  the  first,  but  Katryne  knew  that  New  Am- 
sterdam had  other  feet  than  those  of  Hans  and  as  stout. 
She  now  thought  of  the  giant  negro,  and  said,  "  These 
stockings  will  fit  him.  Yes,  a  good  present  for  Wub- 
bit." 

She  thought,  too,  of  the  young  Englishman  she  had 
nursed,  but  she  dared  not  send  him  anything,  much  as 
she  wished  it,  and  then  she  knew  he  had  been  in  New 
England,  and  had  he  returned  ? 

"  I  cannot  say  about  Harold  Wharton,"  she  reasoned, 
"  but  the  negro  is  there,  and  the  poor  man  may  be  all 
by  himself,  as  Uncle  Pieter's  English  Bible  says,  like 
the  sparrow  alone  upon  the  housetop.  These  stockings 


292  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"   GABLES. 

will  tell  him  that  he  has  a  friend,  and  they  will  comfort 
him.  And  now  let  me  go  with  Annetje." 

Annetje,  though,  was  speaking  :  "  Katryne,  it  is  not 
an  easy  night  for  one  walking  the  streets.  Let  me  go 
for  thee.  I  am  out  already,  and  where  is  it  ?" 

"  The  house  is  not  far  where  the  big  negro  lives,  and 
the  stockings  are  for  him." 

"  Oh,  1  know  that  house,  verily.  Is  not  that  sick 
Englishman  there,  or  was  he  not  there — the  Englishman 
that  came  from  fighting  the  savages,  and  was  in  the 
Bear's  Paw  with  thee,  yes,  was  with  thee  ?" 

How  grateful  was  Katryne  for  this  juncture  of  words, 
"  was  with  thee"  !  Starved  Katryne  !  Little  did  her 
love  have  to  feed  upon.  Those  words,  though,  "  was 
with  thee,"  came  like  a  heaped-up  dish  of  dainties  to  her 
sharp  hunger. 

"'Was  with  thee,'"  said  Annetje  again.  "Hast 
thou  forgotten  ?" 

Katryne  could  not  speak.  The  tears  were  in  her  eyes, 
and  she  was  glad  Annetje  could  not  see  them.  She 
only  pressed  Annetje's  hand  when  she  handed  her  the 
stockings. 

"  There,  there,  I  must  not  keep  thee  on  the  stoop,  Ka- 
tryne. The  stockings  will  get  to  the  right  house,  and  now 
good-night.  May  the  '  good,  holy  man'  visit  thy  chimney 
and  give  thy  stocking  good  measure,  running  over." 

"  Thank  thee,  Annetje,"  murmured  Katryne,  turning 
into  the  house. 


THE    STOCKINGS   HUNG    IX   THE    CHIMNEY.  293 

Annetje  was  hardly  off  the  stoop  when  her  big  eyes 
opened  wide  as  she  said  :  "  1  know  what  I  will  do. 
That  poor,  brave  young  soldier  !  1  trow  now  that  he 
has  not  a  pair  of  stockings  to  his  name,  and,  Katryne 
Schuyler,  for  the  love  of  me,  tell  me  why  he  should  not 
have  these  ?  A  poor,  brave  soldier  who  went  to  fight 
the  Indians,  and  they  say  when  he  went  that  he  had 
not  one  bead  of  wampum  in  his  blouse.  He  is  back 
from  New  England  now,  for  I  saw  him,  and  he  may 
be  poorer  than  ever.  I  know  what  I  will  do. " 

She  ran  back  to  the  stoop,  and  thrust  her  elfish  head 
inside  the  door. 

"Katryne,  Katryne  dear  !  If  I  find  somebody  who 
wants  stockings  more  than  that  big  negro,  may  I  not 
give  them  ?  It  might  be  the  watch,  say,  the  poor,  poor 
watch  in  the  cold,  or — ' ' 

Katryne  had  stayed  her  weeping,  and  now  was  laugh- 
ing. "  Why,  why,"  she  said,  "  yes— if— if— " 

The  witch  when  she  heard  the  "  ifs"  promptly  put 
the  door  between  her  and  anything  that  might  follow 
them,  any  "  but,"  "  unless,"  or  "  perhaps,"  any  condi- 
tion, limitation,  or  supposition.  Laughing,  skipping, 
hopping  up  as  if  she  were  about  to  leap  over  a  broom- 
handle,  away  went  Annetje,  murmuring  merrily  : 

"  The  poor  English  soldier  shall  have  some  stockings. 
Ha  !  ha  !  Why,  he  and  Katryne  ought  to  be  married. 
Everybody  says  so,  and  yet  she  acts  in  a  way  so  very 
strange  toward  him.  She  must  love  him,  for  how  she 


294  BEHIND   MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

pinched  my  hand  when  1  spoke  about  Harold  Wharton 
— that  is  his  name — and  I  said  '  was  with  thee. '  Ah  ! 
I  did  that  knowing  what  I  was  doing.  And  yet  those 
lovers  are  drifting  apart  like  North  River  and  East  River 
when  the  tide  comes  in,  and  now  they  must  come  to- 
gether, and  these  stockings  shall  bring  them.  Ha  !  ha  ! 
How  big  they  feel  !  I  should  think  I  was  going  to  mill 
with  two  meal-bags.  No  matter  !  Harold  Wharton — 
I  know  who  he  is — can  wear  one  on  his  head  as  a  hood 
to  keep  his  ears  from  freezing,  and — ha  !  ha  ! — Katryne 
can  wear  the  other,  and  together  they  can  go  to  Jo- 
hannes Megapolensis  to  be  married,  a  hood  on  each 
head!  Ha!  ha!" 

Here  the  witch  threw  lip  the  package  of  stockings  as 
if  she  were  a  dog  playing  with  a  bone,  tossing  it  up, 
catching,  screaming,  but  suddenly  she  stopped. 

"  Oh,  here  comes  the  watch  !"  she  muttered. 

Yes,  lantern  in  hand,  equipped  as  a  watchman,  he 
was  starting  off  on  his  rounds,  striding  with  as  much 
dignity  as  possible  through  the  snow,  but  apparently 
deaf,  like  some  other  famous  watchmen.  The  wind, 
though,  was  not  blowing  his  way,  or  he  might  have  re- 
buked any  unseemly  noises.  Hearing  nothing,  he  hardly 
noticed  a  wriggling  figure  ahead,  and  when  he  reached 
her,  the  witch  went  by  him  silent  as  St.  Nikolaas  himself 
when  he  visits  a  chimney.  When  beyond  the  watch, 
Annetje  went  jumping  along,  and  leaped  as  many  as 
twenty  brooms  ere  she  came  to  the  Wharton  house. 


THE   STOCKINGS  HUXG   IN  THE   CHIMNEY.  295 

The  negro,  candle  in  hand,  hurried  to  the  door  when 
Aunetje  had  soundly  rapped  it  with  its  knocker. 

• "  A  little  bundle  from  Katryne  Schuyler  for  the 
stockings  of  young  massa,"  said  the  witch  boldly. 

"  A- who— a- who  ?"  asked  Wubbit.  "  Oh,  fur  my 
young  massa  !  Oh,  t'ank  ye,  t'ank  ye  !" 

Warm-hearted  Wubbit  !  He  was  more  pleased  than 
if  he  himself  had  been  remembered. 

"  From  Katryne,  mind  ye." 

"  Oh,  yah,  de  injul !" 

"  And  here  is  something  for  you.  It  is  mine  to  give, 
and  it  is  for  your  stocking,  if  you  will  hang  one  up. 
Slip  it  down  and  it  will  just  go  in."  The  witch  held  up 
the  image  of  the  youthful  shepherdess.  "  You  cannot 
see,  but  if  you  like,  you  may  call  it  a  guardian  angel, 
and  it  is  pleasant  to  dream  about  them." 

"  A  garden  injul  !"  exclaimed  Wubbit,  thinking  of 
Katryne  as  he  had  seen  her  at  work  amid  the  melon- 
patch  behind  Hans  Schuyler' s  house.  "  Oh,  t'ank  ye, 
t'ank  ye  !" 

When  Wubbit  withdrew  behind  that  door,  the  hap- 
piest man  in  New  Amsterdam  disappeared  from  the 
sight  of  the  witch.  She  also  disappeared. 

That  evening  Katryne  was  busy  with  her  varied  work, 
and  was  glad  when  she  could  be  alone  and  know  that  all 
in  the  house  were  between  their  respective  feather  beds, 
and  she  could  have  to  herself  the  chimney  that  the  good 
saint  was  expected  to  visit. 


296  BEHIND    MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

"  I  must  see  that  every  stocking  is  in  order,''  she 
murmured  ;  ' '  and  where  are  the  scarfs  that  Adam  Smidt 
gave  me  ?"  She  held  them  up  in  the  soft  candle-light. 
How  she  admired  those  delicate  folds  of  white  and  blue  ! 

"  He  said  I  could  give  one  away,' '  murmured  Katryne, 
11  and  then  I  can  give  mine  away  also.  No,  I  will  keep 
it.  No,  poor,  tired  mother,  she  shall  have  both  scarfs. 
I  will  find  a  wrapping  of  paper  somewhere.  Oh,  I  saw 
a  pile  on  the  shelf  over  the  stairway  going  to  my  room. 
Let  me  get  something  there,"  added  Katryne,  hurrying 
out  of  the  room.  "  I  can  find  it  in  the  dark." 

She  brought  back  two  sheets  of  paper,  and  in  one  she 
folded  carefully  the  scarf  of  white.  In  the  other  she 
hid  away  the  scarf  of  blue.  Then  she  slid  both  into 
Lysbet's  roomy  stocking.  Katryne  wanted  to  bring  up 
both  Hans  and  Lysbet  to  expect  something  in  a  stocking 
when  St.  Nikolaas  came  ;  but  while  Lysbet  accepted  the 
plan  with  a  gentle  demurrer,  Hans  grunted,  "  No,  no  ! 
Foolish  !  foolish  !"  And  yet  he  liked  a  present  dearly, 
and  in  some  way  he  would  be  remembered.  The  pres- 
ent would  be  deposited  in  his  armchair,  and  welcome 
him  at  the  breakfast  hour.  Lysbet  previous  to  her  sick- 
ness had  worked  ruffles  for  his  wrists,  and  also  a  pair  of 
new  hose.  What  would  Katryne  have  for  Hans  ? 

The  relations  of  Hans  and  Katryne  had  been  improv- 
ing recently.  Hans  had  seen  that  it  was  useless  to  try 
to  "  bring  his  wife  and  Katryne  under,"  and  this  course 
of  discipline  he  had  abandoned,  and  both  Lysbet  and 


THE   STOCKINGS   HUNG   IN   THE   CHIMNEY.  297 

Katryne  had  received  better  treatment.  Then  there  is 
something  about  St.  Nikolaas  that  is  very  communica- 
tive— his  generous,  loving  spirit.  As  Hans  anticipated 
his  visit,  Hans  softened.  Katryne  had  knit  for  Hans 
that  pair  of  stout  hose,  and  then  she  had  worked  two 
very  orange  woollen  mittens,  an  article  and  a  Dutch 
color  he  rejoiced  in,  while  Hans'  present  for  Katryne 
was  a  pair  of  new  shoes. 

Katryne  gave  one  more  glance  at  the  suspended  stock- 
ings, and  then  covered  the  glowing  embers  in  the  fire- 
place. Candle  in  hand  she  stole  out  of  the  room,  and 
left  the  chimney  in  the  care  of  the  saint. 

The  streets  of  New  Amsterdam  were  to  be  buried  in 
snow  before  morning,  and  the  watch  of  the  little  city 
would  have  a  toilsome  time  struggling  through  the 
drifts  ;  but  nobody  thought  there  would  be  any  delay  in 
the  arrival  of  St.  Nikolaas  at  New  Amsterdam.  The 
cold  waters  of  North  River  and  East  River  could  not 
detain  him.  The  "  wall"  would  be  no  obstacle  to  his 
runners.  What  at  New  Amsterdam  was  expected  of 
this  merry  old  saint  with  a  round,  rosy  face,  with  hair 
and  beard  in  which  the  snowflakes  had  caught,  with 
expression  of  eager,  happy  interest  in  the  children 
especially,  but  also  in  all  other  human  kind,  was  ex- 
pected elsewhere.  He  was  due  at  Fort  Orange  and 
Rensselaerswyck  and  Wiltwyck,  and  over  in  Breuckelen, 
Midwout,  Amersfoort,  New  Utrecht,  Boswyck,  and 
down  at  Staten  Island  and  back  at  New  Haerlem,  and 


298  BEHIND   MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

across  the  North  Kiver  in  Bergen— indeed,  in  all  New 
Netherland.  Not  a  chimney  in  the  province  but  that 
expected  to  feel  the  pressure  of  the  round,  chubby  body 
of  this  saint  squeezing  his  way  to  a  row  of  stockings 
below.  And  so  the  night  wore  away,  and  the  flakes 
still  flew  in  the  morning.  St.  Nikolaas,  though,  had  ar- 
rived. 

Because  his  presents  may  give  joy,  it  does  not  follow 
that  the  wrappings  about  them  may  be  as  acceptable. 
Lysbet  noticed  the  wrappings  of  the  scarfs.  She  saw 
on  one  side  of  the  wrappings  something  that  had  escaped 
Katryne' s  eyes  that  had  chanced  to  see  the  other  and 
blank  side.  Lysbet  did  not  pretend  to  know  English, 
but  one  word  she  could  read,  "  Katryne." 

"  Hans,"  she  said,  "  here  are  two  of  those  English 
papers.  1  thought  they  were  stolen."' 

"  English  ?    Papers  ?    Stolen  ?   What  meanest  thou  ?" 

"  "What  Katryne  saw  one  day  upstairs." 

1 '  Oh— stolen  ?"  said  Hans,  grinning.  "It  looked 
very  much  like  it  at  the  time,  but  things  sometimes  are 
lost  and  turn  up  again,  vrouw." 

Lysbet  said  nothing  to  this  aloud,  only  to  herself, 
"  Hans,  thou  art  the  thief  that  stole  them  and  brought 
them  back,  and  Katryne  has  found  them." 

"  I  will  hide  these  away,  vrouw." 

"  Hans,  I  do  not  feel  right  about  this.  I  ought  to 
speak  to  Katryne." 

"  Thou  — thou  '  ought  ! '     What  do  the  Holy  Scriptures 


THE   STOCKINGS  HUXG   IIS"  THE   CHIMNEY.  299 

say  about,  wives  and  their  husbands  ?  Thou  art  not  the 
one  to  take  the  lead  in  this  matter.  If  thou  would  be  a 
good  vrouw,  leave  that  to  me. " 

"But  she  may  have  seen  this,"  said  Lysbet,  "and 
read  it." 

"  Then  she  will  speak  of  it,  vrouw.     Wait  !" 

Hans  spoke  again  :  "  Wait,  vrouw,  until  I  go  to  Hol- 
land. Then,  if  Katryne  knows,  all  that  heap  of  guilders 
coming,  as  I  hope,  will  reconcile  her.  How  good  she 
will  feel  then  !  Why,  the  wives  and  daughters  of 
patroons  will  ask  for  her  company.  Look  out,  vrouw, 
do  not  upset  things  like  a  boat  putting  out  into  East 
Eiver  to  go  by  Helle-Gat  without  a  pilot.  Let  thy  hus- 
band look  after  all  these  things,  vrouw.  Katryne  shall 
know,  Katryne  shall  know.  I  have  plans  for  her  ;  and 
now  be  a  good  vrouw,  and  leave  everything  to  thy  hus- 
band, as  saith  Holy  Scripture." 

Lysbet  reasoned  :  "He  has  plans  for  Katryne,  and 
she  will  be  rich  when  he  goes  to  Holland,  as  I  myself 
verily  think.  He  has  not  said  one  word  about  marriage 
with  Van  Schenkel,  only  that  she  is  to  be  a  companion 
of  patroons'  wives  and  daughters.  Why  should  I  be 
like  a  boat  off  Helle-Gat  on  East  Kiver,  and  upset  things  ? 
Yes,  as  the  Good  Book  says,  he  takes  the  lead—some- 
times, half  of  the  time — and  why  not  let  him  this  time  ? 
Lysbet  will  wait." 

So  Lysbet  waited.  So  Hans  waited.  And  Katryne, 
who  had  not  seen  any  papers  in  English,  waited  in  her 


300  BEHIND    MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

ignorance.  The  papers  found  in  the  night  went  into  a 
dark  closet  in  the  chamber  of  Hans  and  Lysbet,  there  to 
stay  until  daylight  reached  them.  How  many  things 
interesting  us  wait  in  the  night  !  The  daylight  will 
reach  them. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  CALLER  WHO  NEVER  CALLED. 

How  the  chimneys  of  New  Amsterdam  did  smoke  ! 
To  him  who  watches  a  chimney-top  it  may  become  a 
register  of  kitchen  history.  When  it  begins  to  smoke 
in  the  morning,  it  declares  the  hour  that  the  family  life 
begins  to  stir.  A  furious  puffing  tells  that  breakfast  is 
coming  on.  Another  excitement  says  dinner  is  under 
way.  The  amount  of  smoke  from  the  chimney  may 
show,  too,  the  state  of  the  family  purse,  whether  it  can 
permit  a  generous  burning  or  must  starve  the  fire  down. 
So  the  color  of  the  smoke  may  tell  the  kind  of  fuel  that 
is  burnt,  and  record  family  preferences  upon  this  sub- 
ject. There  may  be,  too,  declarations  of  character,  as 
when  a  steadily  escaping  current  of  smoke  shows  that 
work  goes  on  with  regularity,  and  hence  the  family 
temper  is  sweet.  An  intermittent  smoking  says  that 
the  fire  bothers  the  cook,  and  who  expects  serenity  and 
who  will  not  forgive  impatience  then  ? 

New  Amsterdam's  chimneys  were  throwing  out  an  un- 
usual amount  of  smoke,  for  soon  New  Year,  or  Nieuw 
Jaar,  the  happy,  bright  Nieuw  Jaar  would  arrive.  New 
Amsterdam  loved  times  and  seasons  just  as  its  great 


302  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

child,  New  York,  loves  them  to-day.  The  feast  of  St. 
Nikolaas  and  Kerstyd,  or  Christmas,  had  gone.  Paasch  or 
Passover,  our  Easter,  and  Pingster  or  Whitsunday,  would 
not  arrive  for  months,  but  Nieuw  Jaar  was  close  at  hand. 
New  Amsterdam  was  in  a  nutter.  Calls  must  be  made 
and  the  greetings  of  the  New  Year  given,  and  to  make 
the  call  complete,  to  give  an  emphasis  to  the  greeting, 
there  must  be  more  or  less  feasting.  Every  fireplace 
was  therefore  flaming,  and  every  chimney  was  puffing 
away  in  anticipation  of  the  feast-day.  The  bake-ovens 
were  thoroughly  heated,  and  after  the  removal  of  the 
coals  and  swabbing  of  the  floor,  what  a  dexterous  use  of 
the  shovel  or  schup,  sliding  forward  such  tempting  sam- 
ples of  the  cook's  art  !  In  the  "  Dutch  ovens,"  what  a 
baking  of  savory  meats  !  The  cook  for  a  while  was 
queen. 

Betje  was  now  living  at  Hans  Schuyler's,  for  Betje's 
master,  Adam  Smidt,  was  tired  of  living  without  his 
Geertruyd,  and  as  the  New  Haerlem  kindred  still 
needed  her  help,  Adam  concluded  to  join  his  Geertruyd, 
and  went  to  live  in  New  Haerlem,  loaning  Betje  to  Hans 
Schuyler.  Katryne  had  become  Hans'  housekeeper,  so 
that  the  resolution  of  Hans  to  bring  her  down  had  ended 
in  bringing  her  up.  Betje  was  glad  to  assist  Katryne, 
for  she  had  lived  many  years  in  New  England,  and  in 
Katryne,  who  had  been  there,  Betje  recognized  a  beloved 
countrywoman. 

"Now,   Betje,"   said  Katryne  one  night,  "  we  will 


THE   CALLER   WHO    NEVER   CALLED.  303 

start  early  in  the  morning,  and  begin  the  cooking  for 
the  Nieuw  Jaar." 

The  one  that  started,  the  "we,"  was  Katryne,  and 
when  she  came  down  into  the  kitchen  the  fire  was  out. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  to  cover  up  my  coals  !  What  a  care- 
less maid  !  Now  I  must  make  a  new  fire,"  she  told 
herself. 

She  took  down  from  its  shelf  the  big  tinder-box,  well 
supplied  with  flint,  scorched  linen,  steel,  and  splinters 
of  pine  whose  points  had  been  dipped  in  sulphur.  It 
was  a  pleasure  to  see  with  what  energy  Katryne  went  to 
work  with  flint  and  steel,  making  the  sparks  fly  rapidly, 
while  her  soft,  dark  eyes  kindled  and  snapped  out  sparks 
as  vivid  as  those  that  lighted  on  the  sensitive  linen,  and 
between  the  two  it  quickly  ignited,  while  the  sulphur- 
pointed  pine  flamed  up  obediently. 

"  There,"  said  Katryne,  "  that  pine  fires  up  quick  as 
Ileer  Director  Stuyvesant  when  one  says  '  Englishman  ' 
to  him." 

In  poked  the  slow-moving  Betje,  just  out  of  her  nest 
of  feathers  built  in  her  slaap-banck. 

"  Betje,  I  will  have  an  eye  to  the  fire.  Do  thou  go 
to  the  stoop  and  look  up  and  see  by  the  weather-cock 
which  way  the  wind  is  blowing,  and  whether  'twill  be 
fair  or  foul  this  blessed  day.  'Twill  give  me  a  big  bit 
of  cheer  to  know  it  is  a  clear,  cold  wind  blowing  down 
the  Manhattans,  and  so  helping  my  fire  and  my  baking." 

Betje  made  her  way  to  the  door,  and  from  the  street 


304  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

was  about  to  take  a  look  at  the  weather-cock,  when  she 
heard  a  voice  : 

"  Mornin',  Betje  !     De  Lor'  bless  thee  !" 

It  was  Joost,  a  slave  from  a  house  on  De  Winkel 
Straat. 

"  Mornin',  rnornin',  Joost  !     Whar  ye  gwine  ?" 

"  Gwine  down  de  ken-nel  fur  massa.  He  a-lookin' 
fur  abargedar." 

"Wha'de  news?" 

"  Dey  say  dat  Ole  Peet  a-gwine  to  gib  it  to  Krakers. 
Mornin',  Betje  !" 

Betje  made  no  reply.  Her  eyes  looked  like  a  pair  of 
candles  suddenly  snuffed.  She  sat  down  on  a  bench  on 
the  stoop  and  pressed  her  hand  upon  her  heart.  Director 
Stuy vesant  had  felt  constrained  in  past  days  to  persecute 
the  Quakers.  Indeed,  he  did  not  appear  to  fancy  the 
toleration  of  any  faith  but  his  own.  Honest  in  his  in- 
tentions, he  was  blind  in  his  judgment.  He  had  inten- 
sity of  religious  conviction,  and  let  us  be  careful  how 
we  try  to  stamp  out  the  sense  of  a  Power  above,  of 
something  beyond  our  low,  selfish  grade  of  living.  Was 
it  not  this  same  Petrus  or  Pieter  Stuy  vesant  who  cried, 
when  announcing  a  day  of  thanksgiving  in  1654  on  ac- 
count of  peace  that  had  been  declared  between  England 
and  Holland  :  "  Praise  the  Lord,  O  England's  Jerusa- 
lem, and  Netherland's  Sion,  praise  ye  the  Lord  !" 

Such  fervor  is  praiseworthy.  Religious  convictions, 
positive,  intense  even,  may  well  find  a  home  in  the 


THE   CALLER   WHO    NEVER   CALLED.  305 

human  heart,  and  may  be  its  saving.  Let  us  make  room, 
though,  for  the  next  man's  religious  conviction,  and  not 
put  out  every  guiding  flame  save  that  on  our  own 
beacon.  Such  toleration,  though,  had  not  been  char- 
acteristic of  the  generation  of  which  Pieter  Stuyvesant 
was  a  part,  and  he  was  no  worse  than  a  vast  crowd  in  his 
day.  Though  it  was  not  in  the  line  of  Dutch  tradition, 
he  proceeded  to  deal  in  New  Amsterdam  even  as  New 
England  had  set  him  the  fashion.  Did  he  not  arrest 
John  Bowne,  and  finally  pack  him  off  for  Holland,  com- 
plaining to  his  superiors  in  the  Dutch  West  India  Com- 
pany that  John  Bowne  was  a  disturber  of  the  peace 
(<  '  who  obstinately  persisted  in  his  refusal  to  pay  the 
fine  which  had  been  imposed  on  him,  and  was  now  ban- 
ished in  the  hope  that  others  might  be  discouraged/  "  ? 

Persecuting  Quakers  that  they  might  be  discouraged  ! 
Folly  !  The  directors  of  the  Dutch  West  India  Com- 
pany of  Old  Amsterdam  were  wiser  than  their  servant 
in  New  Amsterdam.  They  magnanimously  refused  to 
sustain  him,*  and  Quakers  were  left  in  the  enjoyment 

*  The  directors  told  the  governor  :  "  The  consciences  of  men  ought 
to  be  free  aud  unshackled  so  long  as  they  continue  moderate,  peace- 
able, inoffensive,  and  not  hostile  to  the  government.  Such  have 
been  the  maxims  of  prudence  and  toleration  by  which  the  magis- 
trates of  this  city  have  been  governed,  and  the  consequences  have 
been  that  the  oppressed  and  persecuted  from  every  country  have 
found  among  us  an  asylum  from  distress.  Follow  in  the  same 
steps,  and  you  will  be  blessed.  "—History  of  New  Netherland, 
O'Callaghan,  vol.  ii.,  p.  457. 


306  BEHIND    MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

of  their  reasonable  soul-liberty,  and  the  Dutch  rule  of 
treating  dissenters  vindicated. 

A  Nieuw  Jaar  !  Was  it  a  new  one  coming,  or  would 
an  old  one  of  intolerance  still  linger  among  men  ? 
Joost's  gossip  was  an  idle  rumor,  but  to  Betje  it  was  the 
serious  truth.  She  forgot  to  look  up  to  see  which  way 
the  wind  was  blowing,  and  turned  into  the  house  quickly. 
She  was  sure  that  martyrdom  was  approaching,  and  she 
was  also  certain  that  as  a  "  Kraker"  she  might  expect  her 
share  of  the  burning  stake.  Her  only  evidence,  though, 
that  she  was  a  Quaker  consisted  in  her  belief  that  the 
still,  small  "  voice"  was  in  her  breast.  It  is  precious 
sometimes  to  think  that  we  possess  a  peculiarity.  It 
may  be  our  claim  to  a  saint's  inheritance. 

Katryne  recognized  the  cloud  on  Betje's  face. 

"  What  makes  thee  so  solemn  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  chile,  twubble,  twubble  !  I'se  a  Kraker,  and 
Old  Pieter's  a-gwine  to  shet  us  up." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  that  is  all  stopped  now." 

"  Joost,  he  say  so." 

"  Oh,  Joost  does  not  know." 

"  1  hear  de  voice  in  my  soul,"  solemnly  declared 
Betje.  "  Dat  lubly  voice  say  so  ;  dar's  twubble  a-com- 
in'." 

"  Betje,  give  me  thine  eyes,  thine  ears,  too.  I  have 
a  voice,  too,  inside  me.  Thy  voice  is  good,  and  because 
it  is  good,  it  will  be  sensible.  Now  I  know,  I  know — my 
voice  tells  me — that  the  Quakers  will  not  be  touched." 


THE    CALLER   WHO    NEVER   CALLED.  307 

"  You  know,  missus  ?     You  hab  de  lubly  voice  ?' ' 

"Why,  yes." 

"  Shuah  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  The  voice  within  me  says  thou  wilt 
not  be  troubled." 

"Den  Ibliebye." 

"  Now  we  will  begin  to  get  breakfast.  Oh,  what 
about  the  wind  I" 

"  De  win'  ?" 

Betje's  face  was  dark  one  moment,  then  she  rushed 
to  the  door,  saying,  "  I  will  tell  ye.'"  She  came  back 
screaming,  "  North  !" 

"  Now  my  fire  will  burn  well,  Betje.  And,  let  me 
see,  what  shall  I  cook  to-day  for  the  Nieuw  Jaar  ?  I 
will,  I  will—  Oh,  yes  ;  I  see." 

The  New  Amsterdam  chimneys  busily  smoking  in 
anticipation  of  the  Nieuw  Jaar  were  certain  not  to 
smoke  in  vain.  Many  calls  would  be  made,  and  much 
strength  for  the  journey  would  the  Nieuw  Jaar  feast 
give.  And  what  a  kindly  feeling  would  the  day  leave 
behind  !  A  warm  atmosphere  of  New  Year  salutations 
would  settle  down  upon  New  Amsterdam,  and  it  was 
sure,  though  not  taking  the  chill  out  of  the  frosty  skies, 
to  thaw  far  into  the  hearts  of  New  Arnsterdamers,  melt- 
ing away  unkiridliness  in  the  circle  of  family  and  neigh- 
borhood. Among  those  planning  to  call  on  Katryne 
Schuyler  was  Harold  Wharton.  lie  had  seen  but  little 
of  her  for  a  long  time.  During  his  serious  sickness 


308  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"   GABLES. 

after  his  return  from  that  campaign  against  the  savages 
— and  it  was  serious  enough  for  a  while— there  had  been 
several  very  precious  reminders  of  the  existence  of  such 
a  friend  to  sick  young  strangers  as  Katryne  Schuyler. 
As  his  convalescence  made  progress  there  was  a  coolness 
on  her  part  that  steadily  neared  zero  point.  By  a  sharp 
look  one  day  she  brought  tears  into  his  eyes,  and  then 
by  a  second  chilling  glance  almost  froze  those  tears  into 
icicles.  It  was  all  in  the  interest  of  Geertruyd  Smidt, 
though.  Katryne  was  a  volcano  under  the  ice,  and 
went  home  to  spend  a  night  of  wretchedness. 

Two  things  of  recent  occurrence  had  decided  Harold 
to  make  a  Nieuw  Jaar  call.  He  had  received  a  present 
from  her,  the  big  orange  hose.  At  first  he  was  indig- 
nant. 

"  Does  she  think  that  I  have  feet  as  big  as  those  of 
her  father?"  he  said. 

Then  he  was  amused. 

"  Why  should  I  take  it  so  seriously  ?  Did  not  rny 
father's  counsel  say,  '  Go  slow  '  ?  She  may  have  been 
minded  to  send  me  in  sport  those  stockings,  for  it  is  a 
sport-making  season." 

Then  he  felt  that  he  would  be  sensible,  for  one  day 
when  the  walking  was  rather  icy,  a  man  came  to  see 
Wubbit  wearing  big,  thick  stockings  outside  his  ordinary 
hose. 

"  Ah  !  what  a  fool  I  have  been  !  Katryne  meant 
that  1  should  wear  these  outside  my  every-day  stockings, 


THE    CALLER   WHO   NEVER   CALLED.  309 

covering  my  shoes  and  protecting  my  legs.  How  full 
of  kindness  is  her  heart  !  She  is  a  marvellous  knitter  !" 

He  resolved  now  to  call  upon  her,  wearing  the  mam- 
moth hose  as  dress  appropriate  to  the  season.  The 
second  reason  for  a  call  he  found  in  a  letter  received 
from  liis  Uncle  Robert,  with  whom  he  had  passed  a  fort- 
night after  his  restoration  to  health.  Harold  came  back 
to  New  Amsterdam  to  look  after  his  uncle's  interest  in 
shipping  furs.  Lately  he  received  this  letter,  which 
took  up  and  considered  various  business  items,  and  then 
said  : 

"  It  will  not  take  thee  long  to  dispatch  these  matters, 
and  then  I  want  thee  to  come  and  be  with  me  here  in 
Boston.  I  will  speak  to  Satisfaction  Belcher  to  give 
thee  a  chance  to  eat  and  sleep  in  his  dwelling.  I  am 
tarrying  with  Desire-the-Truth  Akers,  and  I  took  the 
last  bed  he  could  spare,  so  I  must  send  thee  to  be  with 
Satisfaction.  I  would  like  to  have  thee  come  to  Boston 
in  the  ship  Mercy.  But  before  thou  shalt  take  thy 
departure,  which  will  be  after  the  New  Year,  do  thou 
make  a  call  for  me.  Like  the  chief  butler  of  Pharaoh, 
'  I  do  remember  my  faults  this  day,'  my  great  remissness 
in  not  remembering  my  helpmeet,  Pieter  van  Twiller,  in 
the  land  of  the  savages.  Thou  dost  know,  for  I  have 
told  thee,  how  he  helped  me  there.  He  made  mention 
of  a  maid,  one  Katrjme  Sehuyler,  that  showed  much 
kindness  of  heart  to  him.  I  ought  to  show  like  kind- 
ness of  heart  and  inquire  for  his  welfare.  And  it  hath 


310  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES* 

come  to  me  that  if  thou  wilt  find  her  out,  and  in  some 
way  gain  permission  to  call  on  her  New  Year's  Day,  she 
will  tell  thee  how  fare  the  soul  and  the  body  of  my  so- 
journ er  in  the  wilderness.  Wishing  thee  a  safe  voyage 
in  the  Mercy,  and  praying  that  the  goodness  of  God, 
like  a  favorable  wind,  may  follow  thee  ever, 
"  Thy  loving  uncle, 

"  ROBERT  WILLIAM  WHAKTON." 

1 '  That  settles  it !' '  declared  Harold.  ' '  I  will  call  upon 
Katryne,  and  in  behalf  of  my  uncle  find  out  how  fares 
it  with  her  uncle,  Pieter  van  Twiller.  That  ought  to 
make  us  friends,  the  haughty  Yashti  !  Yes,  she  is  like 
wilful  Yashti  in  the  Book  of  Esther,  who  refused  to  do 
as  the  king  wished,  and — and  I  do  not  blame  Yashti. 
Do  I  justify  Katryne  ?  Ah  !  Katryne,  so  loving  and 
then  so  cold,  thy  unhappy  Harold  must  love  thee  still." 

How  many  of  his  thoughts  he  gave  to  this  Nieuw  Jaar 
call,  thinking  about  it  by  day  and  then  in  his  dreams 
presenting  himself  to  the  proud,  wilful,  yet  lovely 
Dutch  queen,  Katryne  Schuyler  !  What  should  be  his 
dress,  from  his  hat  to  those  enormous  hose — no,  beloved 
leggings,  proof  of  Katryne' s  affection  for  him  ?  Long 
into  the  night,  day  after  day,  must  she  have  sat  by  the 
fireside  knitting  for  her  Harold.  Having  thought  all 
the  items  of  his  dress  over,  lie  mused  as  to  the  call 
itself.  He  finally  came  to  this  decision  :  it  should  be 
a  general  call  ostensibly,  a  dropping  in  casually,  like  a 


THE    CALLEK    WHO    NEVER   CALLED.  311 

burgomaster  or  a  schepen  to  see  Hans.  Then  in  behalf 
of  his  uncle  he  would  inquire  about  her  uncle,  Pieter 
van  T wilier.  His  uncle,  her  uncle — how  that  bound 
Harold  and  Katryne  !  Happy  turn  of  Fortune's  wheel ! 
Finally  he  meant  this  should  be  a  personal  call  upon 
Katryne,  a  very  personal  call.  He  would  thank  her  for 
that  thoughtful  present,  the  storm-weather  leggings. 
If  he  had  opportunity  he  would  speak  of  his  love,  which 
would  burn  like  the  blacksmith's  fire  in  spite  of  the  cold 
water  Katryne  threw  upon  it.  But  he  told  himself  that 
he  also  intended  to  take  so  much  pride  with  him  on  this 
occasion  that,  if  need  be,  he  would  properly  stiffen  up 
and  be  as  cold  and  icy  as  she.  He  would  show  her  what 
could  be  done  when  an  Englishman's  self-respect  was 
rallied  to  meet  a  Dutch  woman's  coldness  of  heart. 

In  anticipation  of  his  trip  to  New  England,  his  Uncle 
Robert  had  considerately  sent  him  money  that  he  might 
put  his  wardrobe  in  good  condition. 

He  had  previously  brought  a  suit  from  England  that 
now  needed  but  little  repair.  The  coat  was  one  of  vel- 
vet, and  the  shade  was  a  warm  purple.  The  skirts  were 
long  and  full,  and  there  were  trimmings  of  lace  for  the 
wrist  and  about  the  collar  and  along  the  breast  of  the 
coat.  He  did  not  really  like  to  put  his  free  rippling 
locks  in  the  stiff  embrace  of  a  queue,  but  it  was  done 
for  this  Nieuw  Jaar  call,  and  the  gathered  tresses  were 
tied  with  an  eel-skin  cord,  which  he  had  learned  was 
Hans  Schuyler's  style,  and  which  it  seemed  to  Harold  it 


312  BEHIND    MANHATTAN"   GABLES. 

might  be  policy  to  imitate.  Those  interfering  folds  of 
hair  were  thus  gathered  up  out  of  the  way,  and  it  gave 
his  face  a  boy-like  look  which  was  quite  charming. 
Then  he  properly  adjusted  some  lately  purchased  purple 
hose,  which  matched  his  purple  breeches,  and  he  proudly 
fastened  at  the  knee  some  bright  new  silver  buckles. 
The  outside  hose  he  drew  on  affectionately,  and  with 
extra  care.  "When  he  started  forth  on  this  errand  of  the 
Nieuw  Jaar,  he  was  a  very  striking-looking  Cupid,  and 
yet  he  timorously  delayed  his  call  till  the  last  of  the 
afternoon. 

He  thought  as  a  prudent  knight  he  would  not  storm 
the  fair  one's  castle  at  once,  but  he  would  approach  it 
by  degrees.  He  walked  along  several  streets,  and  then 
strode  into  De  Brug  Straat.  With  the  air  of  one  who 
was  out  for  his  health  or  to  see  the  sights,  he  leisurely 
sauntered  along  the  bridge  crossing  the  canal.  Here  he 
looked  down  on  the  few  barges  there,  each  covered  with 
a  layer  of  whitest  snow,  and  looking  like  a  stout  Nieuw 
Jaar  cake  from  a  neighboring  fireplace.  Here  Harold 
thought  of  two  men  of  the  sea  prominent  in  his  New 
Amsterdam  life — George  Martin,  who  was  on  a  voyage 
from  New  England  to  Old  England,  and  that  sailor 
fiend,  Dirk  van  Schenkel. 

"  I  am.  very  well  content  to  think  Van  Schenkel  is 
also  off  on  some  voyage,  and  pirate-like  as  ever  he  is,  I 
venture  to  believe,"  thought  Harold. 

This  Cupid  in  purple  above  and  orange  below  now 


THE   CALLER  WHO   NEVER   CALLED.  313 

shyly  stole  along  the  canal,  his  heart  fluttering  as  he 
glanced  at  the  houses  whose  gables  overlooked  the  canal. 
He  remembered  that  Katryne  Schuyler's  door  had  a 
peculiar  knocker,  and  was  it  lion-headed — no,  it  was  dog- 
headed  ;  no,  it  was  lion-headed  !  Yes,  this  one  just 
before  him  was  the  one,  and  behind  it  he  saw  in  fancy  a 
big  fireplace  roaring  away  a  golden  welcome,  a  table 
loaded  with  appetizing  comforts,  and  gently,  timorously 
handling  that  guardian  with  the  lion-head,  he  knocked 
and  waited.  Ah,  there  was  his  darling  coming  now  ! 
He  could  single  out  her  step  from  the  tramp  of  a  multi- 
tude. 

The  door  opened,  and  there  stood  the  Evil  One,  Cap- 
tain Dirk  van  Schenkel,  of  all  beings  the  least  expected, 
and  supposed  to  be  on  the  high  sea  !  Harold  could  only 
stare  at  this  apparition. 

"  Veil,  vot  you  vant  ?"  he  snarled  in  his  broken 
English. 

"  Oh — is — not  this  the  place  ?"  replied  Harold,  con- 
fusedly. 

"  Vot  place  vos  it  you  vant  ?  You  tink  me— to— to 
— find  vot  you  know  notin'  of  ?"  cried  Van  Schenkel 
wrathful  ly. 

To  Harold  it  seemed  as  if  the  lion  in  the  knocker  had 
left  his  iron  perch  and  descended  to  glare  and  roar  at  a 
poor,  bewildered  young  Englishman. 

"  Does — Pieter — van  —  Twiller — live— here  ?"  asked 
Harold,  with  stammering  tongue. 


314  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

"  No  !"  roared  the  lion. 

"  No,  no  ;  Kat — Kat— I  mean — Katryne  Schuyler  1" 
gasped  this  Cupid  in  purple  and  orange. 

"  Kat — Kat — she  no  live  here  !  She — gone  vay — vay 
off  !  Now  you  go  vay,  and  never  you  knock  wid  dat 
knocker  some  more  !" 

Harold  retreated.  Katryne  gone  away  !  He  heard  a 
laugh  behind  him.  He  turned.  He  looked  back. 
There  was  Yan  Schenkel,  laughing  now  as  if  hopelessly 
convulsed,  and  pointing  down  at  Harold's  legs. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  Dose  tings.  Shake  'em  out  and  make  a 
Dutch  flag  of  'em  1" 

Harold  did  not  wonder  at  this  reference  to  his  orange 
hose,  for  they  had  suddenly  and  strangely  collapsed,  and 
hung  down  in  embarrassing  folds.  The  tit  was  a  loose 
one,  and  the  strings  tying  the  hose  had  been  too  feeble 
to  hold  them  up,  and  there  was  this  "  Dutch  flag"  awk- 
wardly flapping  about  Cupid's  legs  ! 

"  I  will  not  be  balked  in  this  thing,"  indignantly  de- 
clared Harold,  moving  on  after  he  had  tied  his  leggings 
again.  "  I  will  try  the  next  door.  I  do  not  have  faith 
in  that  fiend.  Let  me  think.  What  kind  of  a  knocker 
is  it  ?" 

Here  his  attention  was  divided  between  two  objects, 
a  group  of  soldiers  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  and 
that  door  in  the  next  house  suddenly  opening. 

"  That  is  the  door  I  want,"  he  was  saying,  and  was 
moving  toward  it,  when  it  was  abruptly  slammed  in  his 


THE  CALLER  WHO  NEVER  CALLED.        315 

face  ;  at  the  same  time  he  heard  the  voice  of  the  Evil 
One  behind  him  : 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  Katryne  vood  like  to  see  dot  Dutch  flag 
round  dose  legs  !  Ha  !  ha  !" 

Harold  did  not  stop  to  make  any  more  inquiries.  He 
felt  assured  that  this  was  the  Schuyler  house,  Katryne's 
home,  and  somebody  had  slammed  the  door  in  his  face  ! 
What  a  disappointment  !  A  whole  snow-storm  from  the 
northeast  seemed  let  in  upon  his  soul,  a  little  while  ago 
so  warm  with  expectation. 

And  Katryne  ?  She  had  expected  Harold  Wharton 
among  the  callers  that  day.  Armetje,  queer  and  mis- 
chief-loving, yet  really  warm  of  heart,  had  found  out 
through  a  mutual  friend  that  Harold  had  planned  a  call, 
and  had  told  Katryne  all  she  knew. 

"  Those  two  people  shall  meet  if  my  name  is  Annetje," 
declared  the  witch. 

So  Katryne  was  expectant.  Her  feast  was  ready. 
Lysbet  had  been  ailing  for  some  time,  and  the  cooking 
had  fallen  into  Katryne's  hands,  and  they  had  proved  to 
be  wonderful  hands  in  the  making  of  a  favorite  New 
Amsterdam  dish.  It  was  not  a  warm-weather  comfort, 
but  let  the  pigs  be  taken  out  of  their  pens,  and  soon 
after  that  the  family  stock  of  lard  be  taken  in,  and  the 
odor  of  a  positive  but  fragrant  fry  might  be  sniffed  in 
every  kitchen  that  had  any  culinary  standing  in  New 
Amsterdam.  The  sound  of  a  violent  sizzling  might  be 
expected  also,  and  out  of  the  hot,  bubbling  fat  in  some 


316  BEHIND    MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

one  of  the  dozen  or  less  frying-pans  in  the  fireplace, 
would  be  skimmed  the  round,  brown  doughnut  so  dear 
to  the  Dutch  palate.  Behind  a  plate  of  those  doughnuts 
even  the  homeliest  cook  would  in  the  eyes  of  a  hungry 
man  be  credited  with  irresistible  charms.  With  several 
plates  of  such  charms  Katryne  had  stocked  her  Nieuw 
Jaar  table  ;  with  waffles,  too  ;  with  the  so-called  Nieuw 
Jaar  cake  popular  in  New  Amsterdam  ;  with  goodies  also 
from  Holland,  while  Hans  had  flanked  them  with  bottles 
of  schnapps  and  beer. 

"  I  am  very  well  pleased  that  Uncle  Pieter  is  not 
here,"  reflected  Katryne,  eyeing  the  schnapps  and  the 
beer. 

Where  Uncle  Pieter  might  be,  no  one  could  say.  It 
was  rumored  that  he  had  returned  alive  from  the  fight 
with  the  Indians,  had  been  seen  on  New  Amsterdam's 
wharf  once,  and  then  had  disappeared.  Whether  he 
had  gone  to  sea,  whether  he  had  been  there  on  the  wharf 
at  all,  no  one  at  Hans  Sclmyler's  could  positively  say. 
It  was  just  as  well  for  the  infirm  Uncle  Pieter  that  this 
Nieuw  Jaar  he  was  somewhere  else. 

However,  Katryne  hoped  Harold  would  come,  and  if 
he  did,  and  if  he  made  any  interesting  declaration  of  a 
sentimental  nature,  she  purposed  to  have  a  frank  talk 
with  him,  and  tell  him  that  she  knew  Geertruyd  Smidt 
had  reasons  for  a  special  claim  upon  him,  and  she, 
Katryne  Sclmyler,  could  not  stand  in  the  way  of  that 
claim.  And  what  if  he  did  not  allow  that  claim  ?  But 


THE    CALLEIl   WHO   NEVE11   CALLED.  317 

he  must.  He  certainly  would  as  soon  as  he  knew  that 
such  a  beautiful  creature  as  Geertruyd  Smidt  loved  him. 
In  his  probable  ignorance  of  Geertruyd's  feelings  he  had 
attempted  to  say  something  foolish  to  Katryne  in  the 
Bear's  Paw.  She  would  enlighten  him.  That  having 
been  settled,  this  point  came  up,  what  fitting,  special 
welcome  could  she  give  him,  one  that  a  presumably 
homesick  young  Englishman  would  appreciate  ?  Would 
it  do  any  harm,  would  it  not  be  well,  in  that  prominent 
Nieuw  Jaar  cake,  shaped  something  like  one  of  those 
frosted  barges  in  the  canal,  to  plant  a  little  English  flag? 
She  had  made  one  ;  and  as  flags  are  very  expressive  ob- 
jects, and  speak  for  much,  Katryne  would  let  this  flag 
speak  for  her. 

Of  course  it  would  not  do  to  let  Hans  see  the  flag. 
Out  of  respect  for  Father  Hans,  she  would  not  obtrude 
it  upon  his  notice.  He  frowned  and  sputtered  and 
growled  every  day  because  there  were  signs  that  the 
English  were  drawing  closer  and  closer  lines  about  New 
Amsterdam.  What  was  Long  Island,  where  the  English, 
in  the  towns  they  occupied,  were  developing  a  rapidly 
growing  power  ?  Long  Island  was  in  the  eyes  of  Hans 
a  mother  of  abominations.  All  this  must  be  trampled 
out.  Holland  must  own  the  land,  and  Dutchmen  occupy 
it.  It  would  not  answer,  then,  to  let  Hans  see  the  little 
flag,  and  Katryne  waited  her  chance  to  erect  it.  There 
were  many  callers,  and  Katryne's  heart  began  to  sink, 
and  the  day  threatened  to  end  in  hopeless  disappoint- 


318  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"    GABLES. 

ment.  She  kept  an  occasional  watch  at  the  window. 
At  last  she  saw  Harold  by  the  canal.  Her  heart  flut- 
tered. He  was  about  to  call.  She  would  manage  it  all 
this  way.  Betje  should  go  to  the  door  and  let  Harold 
in.  Katryne  purposed  to  remain  by  the  feast,  and  if 
Hans  were  not  there,  she  would  plant  the  English  flag  in 
the  cake,  and  then  step  forward  to  welcome  the  young 
Englishman.  She  thrust  the  little  flag  into  the  tooth- 
some depths  of  this  pastry-citadel  soon  to  be  stormed  and 
eaten,  and  she  waited  to  hear  Cerberus  and  Leo,  Brutus 
and  Csesar,  all  speak  at  once.  Yes,  he  was  coming  !  How 
her  heart  swelled  and  throbbed  !  She  hoped  he  would 
like  the  welcome  he  would  receive.  There  was  a  ruddy 
fire  in  the  big-mouthed  fireplace  this  chilly  afternoon, 
and  the  crackling  flames  said  "  Welcome  !"  Then  the 
English  flag  would  say  "  Welcome  !"  And  she,  Ka- 
tryne, would  say  "  Welcome  !"  and  mean  it,  too— say 
it  with  all  her  heart,  and  hold  out  her  hand  as  she  said 
it.  To  make  sure  that  she  would  do  it  right,  there 
alone,  with  the  crackling  flames  and  the  bright  little  flag, 
she  rehearsed  the  needed  gesture.  She  would  hold  out 
her  hands — this  way  !  He  must  be  very  near  now.  An- 
other moment,  the  knocker  would  be  lifted,  and  Cer- 
berus and  Leo,  Brutus  and  Csesar  would  say  in  con- 
cert to  her,  "  Come,  come,  and  welcome  Harold 
Wharton  !" 

But  they  did  not  say  it.     Betje,  in  her  eagerness  to 
be  prompt,  opened  the  door  unbidden.     Seeing  the  sol- 


THE   CALLER   AVHO   NEVER   CALLED.  319 

diers  opposite,  she  muttered,  "  Fse  a  Kraker  !  Dey 
come  for  me  !"  and  bang  went  the  door. 

Katryne  heard  it ;  she  heard  something  else.  A  harsh, 
guttural,  angry  voice  said,  "What — what — is  that?" 
She  turned,  and  Hans,  who  had  entered  by  a  door  in 
the  rear,  was  indignantly  pointing  at  the  English  flag. 
He  looked  stouter  than  ever,  as  if  swelling  with  patriotic 
indignation,  for  there  is  nothing  like  patriotic  fervor  to 
make  a  man  look  big  when  he  is  really  too  small  to  stand 
up  and  fight  for  his  flag.  Hans  snatched  up  the  offen- 
sive colors  and  threw  them  into  the  flames. 

"  Go — go — upstairs,  Katryne  !"  shouted  Hans  in 
wrath. 

Slowly,  wearily,  sadly  Katryne  went  toward  her  room. 
How  heavy  her  heart  seemed,  and  how  hard  a  load  it 
was  yet  to  carry  !  She  did  not  go  into  her  room,  but 
into  the  attic  opposite,  from  which  the  box  of  papers  had 
been  mysteriously  stolen.  She  went  to  the  window  in 
the  western  gable,  and  looked  past  the  steeply  slanting 
roofs  toward  the  western  sky.  She  thought  of  the  grave- 
yard where  Aunt  Mary tje  had  been  laid  away  ;  she  wished 
she  were  there.  She  wondered  if  anybody  in  New  Am- 
sterdam were  as  lonely  as  she.  It  would  be  dark  soon, 
and  the  darkness  would  hide  her  shame  and  her  sorrow. 
Ah  !  it  was  snowing  again. 

The  white  flakes  were  drifting  down,  coming  faster, 
coming  closer,  and  coming  against  the  little  window- 
panes,  as  if  to  indicate  that  they  recognized  Katryne's 


320  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

sadness,  and  wished  to  express  sympathy.  So  she  inter- 
preted it,  and  she  was  glad  it  was  snowing.  It  did  not 
seem  so  lonely  now  out  of  doors,  for  all  these  flakes 
were  messengers  taking  sympathy  to  a  sorrowing  heart. 
She  thought  how  many  people  must  feel  lonely  in  New 
Amsterdam — people  in  sorrow  and  sickness.  Why, 
how  solitary  Lysbet  must  be  down  in  her  room  1  Ka- 
tryne  would  go  down  softly  and  say  a  word  of  comfort 
to  her. 

Lysbet  was  lying  alone  in  her  bed.  There  was  just 
enough  light  to  see  her  face,  and  how  changed  it  was  ! 
It  had  an  eager  look,  one  of  expectancy,  as  if  some 
one,  intently  looked  for,  were  coming.  She  made  no 
complaint  of  pain.  She  only  said  she  was  tired.  Be- 
tween Lysbet  and  Katryne  had  grown  a  strong  bond  of 
sympathy,  specially  developing  when  Hans  took  it  into 
his  head  to  discipline  them.  When  Katryne  now  stooped 
down  and  kissed  Lysbet,  saying,  "  1  am  very  sorry  that 
thou  farest  no  better,  mother,"  Lysbet  replied  : 

"  And,  Katryne,  let  me  say  what  I  am  constrained  to 
say.  Do  not  thou  worry,  child.  I  heard  Hans.  I  do 
not  know  what  it  is  about,  but  all  will  come  out  well. 
Do  not  thou  fear,  child." 

Katryne  fell  upon  her  knees,  bowed  her  head  down  to 
her  mother's  face,  and  cried.  Lysbet  was  now  the  pity- 
ing, comforting,  helping  one.  Softly  her  hand  went 
across  Katryne's  heated  brow. 

"  Do  not  thou  fear,  dear  child  ;  all  will  be  well !" 


THE    CALLER    AVHO    NEVER   CALLED.  321 

She  said  this  again  and  again,  as  if  singing  some  rest- 
ful tune,  and  it  did  rest  Katryne. 

"That  will  do,"  she  said.  "There,  mother,  I  am 
selfish.  Let  me  smooth  thy  pillow.  I  will  comfort 
thee." 

Katryne  had  many  of  the  qualities  essential  to  good 
nursing,  and  Lysbet  soon  declared  she  was  much  bet- 
ter. 

"  And,  mother,  how  much  alone  thou  hast  been  to- 
day !  We  have  had  so  many  callers  I  could  see  thee 
but  little,  and  I  am  sorry." 

"1  have  been  thinking,"  said  Lysbet,  "some  one 
would  call  to  see  me,  and  some  one  may  come  yet ;  but, 
Katryne,  I  have  not  so  many  that  I  know  and  can  be  at 
ease  with.  Lysbet  has  her  friends  among  the  old-time 
people." 

"  Did  mother  look  for  some  old-time  friend  ?" 

"  1  thought  some  one  might  call ;"  and  as  she  spoke 
the  look  of  eager  expectancy  came  into  her  face  again. 
It  was  so  dark  Katryne  could  only  see  Lysbet's  wistful 
eyes.  Lysbet  was  arousing  herself.  "  My  child,  I  want 
to  say  something,  but  somehow  I  cannot.  It  would  be 
too  hard  ;  but  I  wrote  it  and  I  put  it  in  that  box  that 
was  upstairs.  1  wanted  thee  to  read  it ;  thou  knowest — " 

"  The  box  that  was  stolen  ?" 

"  Yes ;  but  I  think  everything  will  be  brought  back, 
and  thou  wilt  find  a  paper  I  wrote — and  when  it  comes 
back— thou  wilt  find  it,  and — " 


322  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

"  There,  mother,  it  tires  thee.  Rest  now.  Try  to 
sleep.  I  will  come  down  again  in  a  few  moments." 

When  Katryne  was  softly  stepping  away,  she  turned 
and  looked  back.  Lysbet's  eyes  were  not  closed,  but 
they  were  looking  out  toward  the  light  fading  in  the 
window,  and  there  was  the  same  look  of  eagerness  to 
see  an  old-time  caller,  this  Nieuw  Jaar. 

Katryne  saw  that  face  several  times  that  night,  and 
ministered  to  the  sick  woman's  comfort.  She  came  in 
the  morning  very  early  to  inquire  about  Lysbet,  and  the 
face  was  still  turned  toward  the  window,  but  Lysbet  had 
gone  ! 

For  in  the  night  some  one  had  called,  one  whom  men 
may  expect,  but  oftener  he  is  the  unexpected  one.  He 
calls,  though,  just  the  same,  and  at  every  house  he  makes 
his  calls.  He  passes  by  no  door,  but  calls  in  the  midst 
of  our  joy,  perhaps  our  sorrow,  in  our  leisure,  and  it 
may  be  in  the  wildest  excitement.  Others  may  fail  to 
remember  us,  or  business  may  hinder  them  ;  he  is  sure, 
though,  to  call,  and  he  will  prove  to  be  the  old-time 
friend  if  we  will  have  it  so.  It  was  he  that  had  come 
to  the  home  of  Lysbet,  as  he  will  come  to  us  all — Death  ; 
and  in  his  company  Lysbet  had  gone  hence  to  a  long, 
long  Nieuw  Jaar. 

An  old  Dutch  colony  custom  was  to  watch  with  the 
dead,  for  what  if  within  that  still  frame  might  stir  any 
lingering  force  of  life  ?  This  duty  was  discharged  for 
three  or  four  nights  by  a  select  band  strengthened  by 


THE  CALLER  WHO  NEVER  CALLED.        323 

various  refreshments,  solid  and  liquid.  The  watch  over, 
then  came  the  funeral,  to  which  the  aanspreeker,  the 
inviter,  dressed  in  black,  wearing  a  black  hat  with  a 
long  black  weed,  had  invited  the  kindred  and  acquaint- 
ances. The  coffin,  hidden  under  a  black  cloth,  the 
dood-kleed  or  dead-cover,  black-fringed  and  tasselled  at 
the  corners,  was  borne  away  from  the  house  on  a  bier  by 
the  appointed  bearers. 

At  Lysbet's  funeral  every  customary  tribute  of  re- 
spect and  affection  was  paid.  Many  gathered.  The 
minister's  mood,  while  solemn,  was  tender  and  sym- 
pathetic, and  his  services  a  house  of  refuge  amid  the 
storm.  It  seemed  as  if  the  bell-ringer  that  day,  stand- 
ing alone  by  the  old  bell-rope  in  the  church  of  St.  Niko- 
laas,  looked  up  as  he  tolled,  and  with  a  prayer  sent  out 
the  bell-notes  tolling,  tolling.  When  the  bearers  car- 
ried their  burden  out  of  the  house,  they  did  it  gently, 
pityingly.  In  the  same  gentle,  compassionate  spirit 
many  followed. 

It  was  a  white  winter  day.  The  Nieuw  Jaar  snow 
sparkled  in  the  bright  sun.  All  this  vividness  of  light, 
all  the  lustre  of  the  snow,  though,  only  made  more  dis- 
tinct the  dark  dress  of  the  bearers  and  mourners— Hans 
in  black,  Katryne  in  black,  Betje  in  black,  many  others 
in  black.  At  one  time  there  was  a  sharpening  of  the 
light,  as  if  the  sun  would  shine  away  the  fact  of  Death, 
but  it  only  made  that  fact  more  distinct.  It  was  a  line 
of  deep,  dead  black  against  the  white  snow.  That  line 


324  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

was  slowly  drawn  along  De  Heeren  Graft,  then  wound 
round  into  De  Bever  Graft,  then  into  De  Heeren  Straat, 
and  finally,  with  slower,  more  compassionate  step,  the 
draped  column  filed  into  the  bleak,  lonely  graveyard  look- 
ing off  upon  the  chilly,  blue  North  River.  The  sun  shone 
when  this  graveyard  was  entered  and  when  forsaken. 
The  procession  came  back  to  the  house.  To  all  who 
wished  refreshments  were  served.  Katryne  was  glad 
when  this  lugubrious  funeral  feast  was  over — the  dood- 
feest  some  of  the  olden  days  have  called  it.  A  glance  at 
certain  funeral  bills  will  not  only  reveal  a  heavy  expense, 
but  suggest  sources  of  trial  to  sincere  yet  tempted 
mourners.* 

The  house  by  the  wintry  canal  was  at  last  still,  and  a 
black  figure  from  a  window  in  the  eastern  gable  looked 
off  upon  East  River,  and  saw  a  vessel,  one  vessel,  drift- 
ing away  on  the  cold  winter  tide. 

"  What  vessel  can  it  be  ?  How  lonely  it  seems  !  As 
much  alone  as  my  life  !"  she  murmured. 

From  the  deck  of  this  solitary  vessel,  the  Mercy, 
Harold  Wharton  looked  toward  the  little  city  with  its 

*  "  In  the  church  accounts  for  the  year  1682,  one  hundred  and 
fifty  guilders  and  eleven  stivers  are  entered  as  the  burial  expenses 
of  a  church  pauper,  of  which  amount  twelve  guilders  were  ex- 
pended for  five  cans  of  rum,  two  pieces  of  eight  and  twenty -four 
guilders  for  the  services  of  the  bearers,  twenty-four  guilders  and 
four  stivers  for  fifteen  gallons  of  beer.  "—History  of  the  City  of 
Albany,  by  A.  G.  Weise,  p.  195. 


THE    CALLER   WHO    NEVEll    CALLED.  325 

notched  gables,  and  wondered  where  might  be  Katryne's 
home,  and  wondered,  too,  for  whom  the  bell  of  St. 
Nikolaas  had  been  tolling  that  day. 

11  How  lonely  it  sounded  T'  he  murmured. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE   COMING   OF   THE   ENGLISH. 

"  OH,  father,  the  English  are  coming  !"  cried  Ka- 
tryne, bursting  into  the  house,  her  market-basket  on  her 
arm. 

"  Humph  !"  growled  Hans,  smoking  by  the  kitchen 
fireplace. 

"  But  they  are  coming,  father  !" 

He  only  smoked  more  furiously. 

Katryne  never  looked  prettier.  A  breezy  walk  to 
the  market  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  fort,  her  chatty 
contact  with  the  people  buying  and  selling  vegetables, 
fruit,  fish,  and  meat,  the  exciting  gossip  about  the  ex- 
pected arrival  of  an  English  fleet  to  take  New  Amster- 
dam, the  hurried  walk  home  to  tell  Hans,  the  added  bits 
of  warlike  news  given  her  by  old  acquaintances  along 
the  borders  of  the  canal,  had  given  her  face  a  fine  flush 
of  brightest  color.  It  was  like  an  additional  touch  of 
the  artist's  brush  to  an  already  pretty  picture,  though  in 
this  case  the  honest  coloring  of  nature. 

"  Humph  !'?  Hans  had  said  to  Katryne.  Was  that 
his  only  notice  of  a,  very  serious  subject  ?  Katryne 
waited.  He  puffed  more  and  more  laboriously,  the 


THE   COMING    OF   THE   ENGLISH.  327 

smoke  rising  more  and  more  voluminously,  till  he  looked 
like  Vesuvius  when  the  lid  has  been  taken  off  its  crater. 
Finally  he  snarled  out : 

"  So  the  English  are  coming  !  I  should  say  that  they 
had  already  come,  old  ones  and  young  ones  !" 

"  What— what— is  the  meaning  of  that  P' 

"  Young  ones  ?  I  mean  that  Wharton,  though  I  have 
not  seen  him  for  some  time." 

Katryne  bit  her  lips  and  imprisoned  her  tongue. 
Then  quietly,  with  a  blushing  face  but  with  dignity, 
she  withdrew. 

"Well,"  thought  Hans,  looking  after  her,  "I  have 
routed  that  ally  of  the  English.  Some  time  ago,  when 
I  saw  him  down  by  the  water-gate  with  her,  1  thought 
he  too  needed  routing." 

Hans  now  smoked  away  as  if  the  coming  of  the  Eng- 
lish were  a  matter  of  no  concern  to  him,  puffing  leisurely 
and  lazily.  It  did  in  reality  trouble  him  very  much. 

Since  the  close  of  the  last  chapter  much  had  hap- 
pened. Hans  had  made  a  voyage  to  Holland,  taking 
Katryne  with  him.  The  purpose  of  the  tedious  voyage 
was  to  secure  some  property,  and  the  end  was  failure. 
This  property  long  had  been  anticipated.  It  was  stated 
in  the  will  of  a  Holland  kinsman  that  after  a  certain 
number  of  years  certain  property  should  go  to  Hans' 
household.  This  was  the  property  of  which  Hans  re- 
minded Lysbet  the  day  before  the  Nieuw  Jaar,  urging 
her  to  wait  before  she  made  to  Katryne  a  communica- 


328  BEHIND   MAKHATTAK   GABLES. 

tion  Lysbet  had  in  mind.  A  part  of  the  fortune  would 
come  to  Hans  and  Lysbet,  and  the  balance  to  any  child 
that  might  be  living,  and  this  child's  portion  until  mar- 
riage Hans  would  have  the  management  of.  Alas,  for 
any  estate  of  which  he  might  be  the  manager  !  He 
would  prove  its  devourer.  He  was  speculative  and  rash 
in  his  ventures,  and  more  than  once  had  shown  that  he 
was  better  at  emptying  a  basket  than  filling  it.  He  had 
foolishly  allowed  himself  to  become  entangled  in  some 
unhappy  financial  schemes,  and  Debt,  like  a  hard,  piti- 
less shackle,  was  cramping  him.  He  hoped  that  the 
Holland  fortune  might  bring  the  hammer  that  would 
break  his  chain  and  let  him  loose  from  his  bondage.  It 
was  only  necessary  that  he  showed  that  he  had  a  child, 
and  then  the  property  would  come  to  his  cosey  little 
stoop  by  the  canal.  Katryne  would  be  rich,  and  he  the 
manager  of  her  wealth.  Enough  would  come  to  him  to 
pay  his  debts,  and  then,  as  Lysbet  was  dead,  he  thought 
he  would  have  her  share  of  this  long-anticipated  for- 
tune. All  the  voya,ge  to  Holland  he  was  in  a  happy, 
golden  dream.  Katryne  noticed  it. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  I  never  saw  thee  so  happy. 
May  it  not  have  a  short  stay  !' ' 

"  Ah  !  my  child, "  he  said,  "  we  were  never  so  near  to 
a  long  happiness.  I  can  pay  some  troublesome  debts, 
and  thou  wilt  go  back  to  New  Amsterdam  to  ride  with 
burgomasters,  with  Pieter  and  Vrouw  Stuyvesant,  and 
— and  go  out  to  tea-drinking  at  the  houses  of  patroous." 


THE   COMING   OF  THE   ENGLISH.  329 

"  Father,  I  would  rather  earn  the  money  that  comes 
to  me,  if  I  could  choose,  and  go  to  drink  tea  with  my 
dear  Geertruyd  Smidt." 

"  We  will  see,  Katryne  ;  we  will  see.  A  new  sun  is 
shining." 

Alas  !  when  Holland  was  reached,  the  beautiful,  golden 
sun  ran  its  head  into  a  cold  fog-bank.  The  property 
had  not  only  been  overestimated,  but  some  one  had 
managed  it  who  was  no  wiser  than  Hans  Schuyler,  and 
it  had  melted  away  like  a  brook  running  into  desert  sands. 

Hans  went  back  to  New  Amsterdam  in  such  great 
chagrin  that  everybody  on  board  his  vessel  pitied  the 
man  with  this  woebegone  face.  And  now  the  English 
were  coming  !  This  was  a  new  earthquake  under  his 
feet. 

Katryne  was  ready  for  the  possible  change  so  nigh  at 
hand.  One  thing  reconciling  her  to  it  was  the  proba- 
bility that  it  would  bring  an  end  to  Dirk  van  Schenkel's 
matrimonial  solicitations.  Hans  had  been  borrowing 
money  of  Dirk,  and  as  his  indebtedness  increased,  so 
the  captain's  marriage  claims  were  piling  up,  in  his  own 
mind  at  least,  though  not  in  Katryne's.  She  knew, 
though,  the  situation. 

"  Any  day  Dirk  van  Schenkel  may  say  to  Hans  Schuy- 
ler," she  reasoned,  "  '  Give  me  thy  daughter,  and  thy 
debt  is  all  cancelled.'  '  Thy  daughter  '  does  not  mean 
to  be  given  !"  was  the  rebellious  thought  that  Katryne 
added. 


330  BEHIXD   MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

Still,  she  did  not  wish  violently  to  war  against  Hans' 
intention  to  make  her  Yrouw  van  Schenkel,  for  that 
might  oblige  her  to  run  away  from  her  home,  which 
she  did  not  wish  to  do.  Ah  !  if  the  English  would  only 
come  !  Everybody  said  that  Dirk  van  Schenkel  had 
committed  some  depredations  in  English  ports.  If  New 
Amsterdam  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  English,  it  would 
only  be  a  question  of  time,  and  Van  Schenkel  would 
sail  away  from  victors  that  would  one  day  look  into  his 
spotted  record.  When  she  was  with  Hans  by  the  fire- 
place, the  day  she  brought  such  exciting  news  from  the 
market-place,  Katryne's  tongue  was  heated  up  to  say 
something  about  Van  Schenkel's  ugly  record,  and  it 
would  have  been  like  a  stroke  from  a  hot  rod  of  iron. 
She  did  not  say  it,  but  went  out  into  a  thrifty  August 
garden  to  cool  off  in  a  wind  blowing  from  East  River. 
The  English  coming  !  Why,  they  might  be  in  sight 
from  Fort  Amsterdam.  Let  them  come  !  There  was 
one  young  Englishman  to  whom  she  was  prepared  to 
give  a  hearty  welcome,  but  where  he  was  she  could  not 
say.  Harold  Wharton  had  not  been  in  New  Amster- 
dam for  many  days,  and  long  ones  for  Katryne.  She 
now  heard  from  her  green  retreat  a  step  out  on  the 
stoop,  and  then  she  saw  Hans  rolling  off. 

"  He  is  going  to  see  the  skippers  of  the  vessels  that 
are  in,  to  find  out  if  they  have  seen  the  English,"  sur- 
mised Katryne. 

No  ;   Hans  was  going  to  see  his  old  friends,   Adam 


THE    COMING   OF   THE    ENGLISH.  331 

Smidt  and  Isak  Wyckoff,  and  talk  over  the  coming  of 
the  English,  calmly  if  he  could.  He  nervously  sum- 
moned Isak  from  his  beds  of  swelling  melons  and  pump- 
kins, and  the  two  bustled  off  in  company  to  call  on  Adam 
Smidt  in  his  store.  Adam  was  sombrely  sorting  skins 
of  beaver,  mink,  and  foxes. 

"  Glad  to  see  us  ?"  called  out  Isak. 

"  I  am  so  lonely,"  replied  Adam,  holding  out  a  ready 
hand  to  each  friend,  "  I  could  welcome — even  an  Eng- 
lishman." 

Then  he  looked  at  Hans  and  laughed.  Isak  also 
laughed.  Hans  growled  : 

"  Famine  take  the  English  !" 

Adam  had  been  lonely,  indeed.  His  beloved  Geer- 
truyd  was  still  at  New  Haerlem.  Fighting  death  away 
from  the  threshold  of  the  home  of  relatives,  she  herself 
had  been  prostrated  with  fever.  Geertruyd's  father  had 
returned  to  New  Amsterdam  when  the  winter  was  fairly 
over,  but  all  through  her  protracted  sickness  and  con- 
valescence, each  night  Adam  would  mount  the  heavy 
Smidt  wagon,  drive  across  the  bridge  on  De  Brug  Straat, 
then  on  to  De  Heeren  Straat,  rattle  out  through  the 
land-gate,  and  then  slowly  jog  along  De  Heeren  Weg 
across  green  Manhattan  to  New  Haerlem.  In  the  morn- 
ing the  wagon  would  rattle  down  the  island,  past  the 
ponds,  the  swamps,  the  hills,  Stuyvesant's  bouwerie, 
the  thrifty  fields,  and  reaching  the  wall,  roll  through 
the  land-gate,  arid  so  on  to  the  beaver,  mink,  and  fox 


332  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

emporium  owned  by  Adam  Smidt.  Gloomy  was  the 
store  unlighted  by  Geertruyd's  occasional  smile.  Lonely 
was  the  house  that  did  not  echo  to  Geertruyd's  quick 
step.  When  Adam  saw  Isak  and  Hans  entering  his 
shop,  he  cordially  welcomed  them,  and  then  led  them  to 
his  kitchen. 

It  did  not  look  like  Geertruyd's  kitchen,  though  Betje 
had  an  assistant,  and  these  two  sand  artists  executed  a 
variety  of  comical  whirls  on  the  floor.  However,  there 
was  the  fireplace,  and  as  it  was  a  chilly  August  day,  Adam 
laid  an  extra  stick  on  the  smouldering  kitchen-fire.  It  be- 
gan to  rain  dismally,  and  he  added  a  second  stick.  Hans 
had  arrived  out  of  breath  and  apparently  exhausted,  but 
he  now  showed  strength  enough  to  pull  out  his  long 
pipe,  and  he  began  to  smoke  it.  Isak  and  Adam  were 
as  prompt  as  he,  and  a  cloud  of  smoke  was  quickly  aris- 
ing from  each  pipe.  Each  man  faced  the  fire  and  puffed 
away,  and  under  the  cloud  ascending  from  the  three 
busy  pipes  a  wise  conference  was  opened  on  the  subject 
of  resistance  to  the  English.  It  was  a  safe  resistance, 
too,  a  prudent  battle  at  a  distance,  and  the  English  could 
be  met  and  completely  vanquished,  if  need  be,  and  not 
a  drop  of  Dutch  blood  be  spilled. 

The  faces  of  the  three  men  were  worthy  of  study. 
The  strongest  face  was  Isak's.  Kindly  and  sagacious, 
it  had  a  look  of  force.  Adam  had  a  just,  noble  face, 
inviting  confidence,  but  it  was  meditative  rather  than 
active.  Hans'  aspect  was  that  of  selfishness,  one  that 


THE   COMING   OF  THE   ENGLISH.  333 

loved  the  pipe  and  the  fireplace,  and  somebody  else  might 
bring  in  the  wood  for  the  fire.  It  might  be  a  wonder 
that  Isak  and  Adam  should  fancy  the  companionship  of 
Hans,  but  it  was  Hans  that  fancied.  He  would  cling  to 
Isak  and  Adam,  highly  respecting  them  and  their  opin- 
ions, and  it  is  hard  for  us  to  shake  off  one  who  will  fol- 
low us,  looking  up  to  arid  liking  us,  mean  little  dog  as 
he  may  be. 

Hans  began  :  "  I  want  to  know  what  you  two  burghers 
think  of  the  English,  who  are  coming,  so  they  say.  It 
stirs  all  my  Dutch  blood." 

"  I  am  ready  to  give  my  opinion  on  this  subject.  If 
I  am  to  fight,  I  want  to  fight  about  something,"  said 
Isak. 

' '  Fight  about  ?  Haven't  we  a  flag  to  defend  ?' '  asked 
Hans. 

"  No,"  replied  Isak. 

"  Whose  is  it,  then,  that  flag  on  the  fort  ?" 

"  The  Dutch  West  India  Company's." 

Hans  gave  a  vigorous  puff,   too  much  surprised  to 


I  am  very  much  of  Isak's  opinion,"  said  Adam, 
puffing  calmly,  deliberately. 

"  Oh,  you  arc  both  running  away  before  anybody 
runs  at  you  !"  declared  Hans. 

"  Look,  brothers,"  said  Isak.  "  I  will  tell  you  how 
it  all  strikes  me.  There  was  a  Dutch  trading  company, 
as  all  men  know,  in  early  times,  and  it  obtained  of  the 


334  BEHIXD    MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

Dutch  Government  control  of  these  shores,  and  it  in- 
duced people  to  come  here.  The  thought  of  the  com- 
pany was — what  ?  To  plant  free  institutions  here  and 
get  glory  to  the  Dutch  flag  ?  While  it  was  that  in  part, 
yet  it  was  still  more  to  get  something  for  their  own 
profit — a  selfish  enterprise  at  the  bottom.  Look  at  our 
seal  !  What  is  there  ennobling  about  it  ?  What  senti- 
ment that  inspires  ISew  Netherland  to  grand  deeds? 
The  most  there  is  to  New  Netherland's  seal  is  the  pic- 
ture of  a  poor  lump  of  a  beaver,  and  around  him  is  a 
row  of  something  like  beads  of  wampum,  as  if  to  tie  and 
strangle  him,  and  above  is  a  big  crown,  as  if  to  come 
down  and  smother  him.  What  sentiment  is  there  gen- 
erous and  ennobling  ?  And,  brother  burghers,  what  is 
there  that  is  inspiring  in  all  the  Dutch  West  India  Com- 
pany's course  ?  The  company  wished  to  see  how  many 
skins  of  beaver,  otter,  and  other  creatures  the  colonists 
might  get,  and  they  sell  to  the  company,  and  the  com- 
pany make  all  it  could  out  of  the  trade.  They  have 
given  us  protection  to  protect  their  interests,  that  they 
might  save  their  money  bags." 

"  Hold  thou,  Isak,  hold  thou  just  there  one  moment !" 
interposed  Adam,  pulling  out  his  pipe  and  slowly  wav- 
ing his  hand.  "  If  any  one  ought  to  know,  it  is  Isak 
Wyckoff ;  but  I  do  think  when  the  Dutch  West 
India  Company  was  established,  in  1621,  there  was  a 
sincere  love  for  Holland's  glory  actuating  it.  The 
States- General  of  Holland  gave  it  much  power,  and  I 


THE    COMING    OF   THE    EXGLISH.  335 

think  it  was  sincerely  desirous  to  use  that  power  in  start- 
ing colonies,  in  encouraging  Dutch  trade,  in  crushing 
out  pirates,  and  if  we  could  do  it,  we  would  humble 
Spain.  Was  not  that  so  ?  I  allow  human  nature  came 
in  to  get  its  share  of  profit,  if  possible." 

Hans  grinned  when  Adam  unexpectedly  made  this 
declaration,  for,  as  a  rule,  Isak  was  an  oracle  from  whose 
statements  no  appeal  could  be  made.  He  had  a  way 
also  that  helped  him.  His  voice  was  full  and  orotund, 
his  articulation  very  distinct,  and  he  had  an  impressive 
way  of  laying  the  fat  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  on  the 
broad  palm  of  his  left  hand.  Hans  had  ventured  to 
grin,  but  he  was  a  sincere  admirer  of  Wyckoff,  the 
orator.  And  Wyckoff  was  a  candid  orator.  He  would, 
when  it  was  necessary,  promptly  make  any  acknowledg- 
ment needed,  and  he  made  it  now. 

' '  Brother,  I  allow  tliee  all  that.  All  that  ought  to  have 
been  stated.  But  1  must  say  that  the  institutions  planted 
here  have  not  been  of  the  kind  thou  couldest  call  free. 
How  is  it  about  choosing  our  own  officers  ?  Now  1  appeal 
to  you,  Hans  and  Adam.  Over  in  Holland  the  company 
selects  a  Director-General  for  us,  and  he  comes  to  New 
Amsterdam.  He  appears  with  his  Council,  and  pro- 
ceeds to  rule  us.  You  know  we  had  to  work  hard  to 
get  the  board  of  '  the  nine  men  '  to  represent  us  in  gov- 
erning the  town,  then  burgomasters  and  schepens  were 
allowed,  and  while  we  have  some  say  of  our  own,  still 
it  is  not  a  generous  privilege  given  us,  the  people. 


336  BEHIND    MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

What  was  done  this  spring  ?  It  was  at  the  request  of 
the  burgomasters  and  schepens  that  a  General  Assembly 
was  called,  made  up  of  delegates  from  the  several  towns, 
to  take  into  consideration  the  state  of  the  province,  the 
Indians  pressing  us  on  one  side  and  the  English  on  the 
other.  The  Dutch  West  India  Company  did  not  sug- 
gest that.  There  were  these  towns  represented,  our  New 
Amsterdam,  Rensselaerswyck,  Fort  Orange,  Breuckelen, 
New  Haerlem,  Staten  Island — er — er— " 

Here  Isak  looked  helplessly  toward  Adam,  whose 
ready  memory  added  the  links  in  the  chain  that  Isak 
had  omitted. 

"  Midwout,  Amersfoort — " 

"  Oh,  yes  !     Oh,  yes  !" 

"  New  Utrecht,  Boswyck— " 

"  I  see.     Oh,  yes  !" 

"  Bergen  and  Wiltwyck— " 

"  There,  there  !  All  in  a  beaver-skin.  Well,  we 
met  and  asked  of  the  government  protection  against  the 
Indians  and  '  the  malignant  English.'  That  is  what 
they  were  called,  *  the  malignant  English.'  Heer 
Director  and  the  Council  declared  that  they  always  did 
protect  as  far  as  their  means  would  admit,  and  if  their 
means  would  not  admit,  don't  you  see,  men  of  New 
Amsterdam,  that  shows  the  company  in  Holland  could 
not  furnish  resources  ?  You  recognize  that  ?" 

Here  Adam  and  Hans  nodded  their  heads  energetically 
and  smoked  away. 


THE   COMING   OF  THE   ENGLISH.  337 

"  It  shows  the  company  at  home  does  not  protect  us, 
and  they  cannot  do  it.  Heer  Pieter  said  the  inhab- 
itants of  New  Netherland  never  had  contributed  to  the 
support  of  the  defence  of  the  province,  but  I  say  we 
have.  He  maintained  that  the  West  India  Company 
had  contributed  a  big  sum,  but  if  they  did,  was  it 
enough  ?  Why  did  they  bring  their  baby  here  to — to 
the  wilderness  and  leave  it  if  they  could  not  send  means 
to  take  care  of  it  ?  Oh,  brother  burghers,  I  can  show 
you  two  how  weak  that  company  is  over  in  Holland. 
Well,  Heer  Pieter  has  closed  the  war  with  the  savages, 
and  let  us  be  thankful.  1  can  hear  even  now  the  big 
guns  that  were  ordered  to  be  fired  off  at  the  time  of  the 
signing  of  that  treaty  in  the  Council  Chamber — that 
treaty  which  the  savage  chief,  Se — Se — Se — what  is  his 
name,  Adam  ?" 

"  Sewockenamo." 

"  I  am  glad  thou  canst  pronounce  it.  It  is  like  a 
turkey-bone  in  my  throat  Nieuw  Jaar's  Day.  Se— Se — 
wock — I  give  it  up  ;  but  he  said  that  the  treaty  should 
be  like  the  stick  he  held  in  his  hand,  firmly  united,  the 
one  end  to  the  other.  Those  savages  quieted,  what 
about  the  English  ?  What  say  ye  ?" 

Here  Isak  rose  and  fiercely  eyed  the  other  burghers. 
This  sudden  appeal  to  his  companions  was  unexpected. 
Hans  was  sinking  into  a  slumber,  and  Adam  felt  like  it. 
Hans  was  not  sufficiently  awake  to  do  anything  more 
than  give  a  head  shake,  and  Adam  said  the  question 


338  BEHIND    MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

had  as  many  difficulties  as  there  were  rocks  at  Helle- 
Gat. 

Isak  went  on  :  "  Now  the  English  are  wrong.     What 
claim  have  they  to  this  province  ?  They  say— they  say — ' 
Isak  paused,  having  laid  that  fat  finger  on  his  left  palm. 

"  Who  say — what  say  ?"  inquired  Hans,  who  wanted 
to  do  something  in  the  conversation,  but  was  too  sleepy 
to  do  it  intelligently. 

"They  say — the  English  say — "   Isak  began  again, 
then  paused.     "  1  am  trying  to  think  of  the  names — 
he  paused  again. 

Sometimes  Isak  would  show  that  he  was  not  so  good 
a  student  as  orator.  Adam,  who  had  read  more,  would 
then  corne  to  the  front.  Isak  was  now  giving  a  beseech- 
ing look  in  the  direction  of  Adam.  The  silence  dis- 
turbed Hans  more  than  Isak's  smooth,  soothing  mono- 
tone. Hans  opened  his  eyes,  saw  Isak's  look  of  inquiry, 
and  knew  what  it  meant. 

"  Adam,  say — what  is  it  thou  dost  say  ?"  asked  Hans, 
drowsily  making  a  feeble  attempt  to  take  in  the  case. 

"  As  I  understand  it,"  said  Adam  modestly,  "the 
English  claim  the  whole  coast  of  America,  from  the 
French  territory  in  the  north  to  the  Spanish  in  the  south, 
and  they  say  that  this  claim  has  a  good  foundation  on 
account  of  the  discoveries  by  the  Cabots" — 

"That  is  it!"  exclaimed  Isak  triumphantly.  "The 
Cab-ots  !  That  name  slipped  off  my  memory.  Yes, 
the  Cab-ots  !" 


THE    COMING    OF   THE   ENGLISH.  339 

"  Yesh — yesh  !"  murmured  Hans,  who  was  also  slip- 
ping away,  and  yet  was  reminded  of  a  garden  favorite. 
"  The  Cab-bages  !  That  is  the  kind  !" 

Adam  and  Isak  were  too  much  interested  in  their 
theme  to  notice  Hans'  mutterings,  and  Adam  continued  : 

"  They,  the  English,  make  a  claim  of  discovery,  and 
I  found  one  the  other  day  who  could  talk  Dutch,  and 
lie  told  me  he  thought  the  English  ought  to  have  the 
whole  coast  of  North  America.  What  dost  thou  think 
of  that?  How  greedy!" 

"  I  think,"  said  Isak  solemnly,  laying  that  right  fore- 
finger upon  the  palm  of  the  left  hand,  "  that  they 
want  everything.  They  have  again  and  again  been  giv- 
ing away  land  on  the  coast  as  theirs,  but  to  their  own 
people,  mind  ye  !  The  English  have  repeatedly  put 
forth  their  claim,  and  when  they  heard  that  Dutch  ves- 
sels were  coming  over  to  this  neighborhood  and  else- 
where, they  made  a  remonstrance.  And  now  it  is  said 
that  King  Charles  has  given  the  Duke  of  York,  who  is 
Duke  of  Albany,  some  kind  of  a  grant  of  Long  Island 
and  all  the  adjoining  country  the  Dutch  possess,  and 
the  Duke  of  York  has  got  up  the  expedition  that  is 
down  in  the  Bay  somewhere  and  may  be  expected  any 
moment,  four  men-of-war— if  all  there — only  think 
of  it  !  Four  robbers,  I  call  them.  Think  of  it !" 

"  I  have  thought  of  it,  Isak,  and  now  what  can  be 
done  ?"  asked  Adam. 

Ipak  was  very  earnest  and  spoke  with  all  the  impressive- 


340  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

ness  of  one  addressing  a  great  throng  in  the  Stadt  Huys. 
He  asked,  eying  Adam,  for  Hans  was  fast  asleep  : 

"  What  can  we  do,  fellow-burghers  ?  1  will  not  say 
anything  more  about  the  fact  that  the  "West  India  Dutch 
Company  has  not,  in  my  opinion,  taken  proper  care  of 
us  and  our  children,  but  what  can  we  do  in  this  serious 
emergency  to  keep  out  the  English  ?  It  is  not  a  ques- 
tion of  duty  alone,  but  capacity.  Look  at  our  old  fort 
and  our  wooden  wall  !  How  long  can  we  hold  out  ? 
We  shall  by  resistance  endanger  the  welfare  of  New 
Amsterdam.  The  English  guns  can  batter  down  our 
homes  and  bury  us  and  our  children  in  their  ruins.  We 
are  not  prepared  for  resistance,  are  we  ?' ' 

Hans'  head  had  sunk  upon  his  breast,  and  he  made  no 
reply. 

Here  Adam  rose  and  addressed  Isak  with  great  solem- 
nity, as  if  saying  something  for  which  he  might  be  hanged 
from  the  New  Amsterdam  gallows. 

"  Isak,  I  may  be  a  traitor  to  say  it,  but  would  it  not 
be  well  if  the  Dutch  and  the  English  were  united  under 
one  government — yes,  I  may  be  a  traitor,  but  I  have 
thought  of  it ;  and  as  the  English  are  increasing  fast,  and 
we  are  not  as  fast  growing,  why  not  let  the  English  come 
in  and  we  all  be  under  one  government  ?  We  have 
together  resisted  the  Spaniard  ;  we  have  fought  side  by 
side  in  Europe,  and  why  not  live  side  by  side  in  America, 
and  let  it  be  the  English  flag  over  us,  if  the  Lord  will  ?" 

"  Amen  !"  shouted  Isak,  bowing  in  his  most  stately 


THE   COMING   OF   THE   ENGLISH.  341 

fashion.  "  Let  the  will  of  the  Lord  be  done  !  And," 
he  added,  "I  am  thinking  that  it  will  be  for  the  good 
of  the  Lord's  people.  In  Connecticut  beyond  us,  and 
in  Maryland  below  us,  the  people  have  more  rights.  A 
change  may  be  better  for  New  Amsterdam.  Yes,  yes,  we 
have  much  in  common— the  Dutch,  the  English  ;  have 
some  of  the  same  blood  in  our  veins ;  have  fought  to- 
gether against  Spanish  oppression  and  for  liberty  of 
faith,  and  why  not  take  the  English  in  ?  Only,  until 
that  day  comes,  we  are — Dutch,  and  must  do  our  duty  !" 

"  Amen  !"  replied  Adam,  with  dignified  earnestness. 

The  two  patriots  clasped  hands,  looking  at  each  other 
like  men  solemnly  binding  themselves,  one  to  the  other. 
A  sudden  snore  startled  them.  There  was  Hans  deep 
sunk  in  his  chair,  his  head  hanging  still  lower  down  on 
his  breast,  his  pipe  resting  in  his  lap.  "  He  snores  like 
a  patriot,"  declared  Isak.  "  Nothing  half  way  about 
that.  Brother,  I  have  a  thought !  A  series  of  snores 
having  as  much  patriotic  emphasis  as  that,  and  given  at 
the  fort  by  a  dozen  of  the  city's  best  sleepers  posted  on 
the  walls,  would  frighten  off  the  English  !"  The  two  com- 
patriots laughed,  said  pityingly  that  Hans  had  "  fared 
hard  in  Holland,  trying  to  get  his  fortune,"  and  left 
him  to  finish  out  his  nap.  He  was  roused  finally  by  the 
sound  of  Betje  making  music  with  her  waffle  irons.  He 
went  home  to  tell  Katryne  that  he  had  been  at  Adam 
Smidt's  : 

"  Yes,  Katryne,  and  1  tell  thee  that  Isak  never  spoke 


342  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

better.  He  left  nothing  to  the  English,  and  Adam  was 
a  true  Dutchman.  The  English  are  coming,  but  we 
will  give  them  a  welcome  so  hot  they  will  run  from  it  at 
the  first  broadside  from  the  fort." 

New  Amsterdam  was  all  astir.  The  English  had 
often  been  an  uneasy  presence  on  the  borders  of  New 
Netherland,  but  this  was  a  more  serious  menace — so 
close  at  hand,  so  big,  so  full  of  peril.  Between  New 
Amsterdam  and  the  English  menace  was  just  a  wooden 
leg,  and  that  leg  was  in  the  up-river  country.  It  was 
summoned  home,  arid  Pieter  Stuyvesant  came  with  it. 
If  the  Director-General,  stumping  round  on  that  leg, 
could  not  save  New  Amsterdam,  it  was  lost.  There 
was  a  stir  by  way  of  preparation  to  meet  the  enemy. 
At  the  city  gates  was  posted  a  guard.  That  looked  war- 
like. The  brewers  were  directed  not  to  malt  any  more 
grain.  That  probably  was  to  save  food,  and  because  less 
beer  was  drank,  not  the  least  harm  was  done  to  the  pub- 
lic health.  The  fortifications  must  be  strengthened. 
The  Director  and  Council  were  asked  for  eight  more 
guns,  and  that  meant,  when  mounted,  twenty-two  guns 
on  the  works.  Every  third  man  was  ordered  to  go  to 
the  city  defences,  taking  spade,  shovel,  or  wheelbarrow, 
and  he  might  send  a  substitute.  Hans  hired  a  proxy, 
but  it  was  like  Isak  to  seize  a  wheelbarrow  and  Adam 
hunted  up  another,  and  together  they  went  as  ordered, 
each  wheeling  his  barrow. 

Hans  stood  on  the  stoop  of  his  house  and  laughed 


THE   COMING   OF  THE   ENGLISH.  343 

when  they  had  passed.  Then  he  went  in  and  scolded 
Katryne  for  her  sympathy  with  the  English. 

What  could  New  Amsterdam  effectively  do  in  this 
hour  of  her  need  ?  At  the  very  door  of  New  Amster- 
dam lay  an  English  fleet.  We  have  the  names  of  the 
vessels  on  record,  and  also  their  batteries.  Almost  all 
the  vessels  had  the  names  of  men,  and  grirn  with  arms 
they  were.  The  William  and  Nicholas  carried  ten 
guns,  the  Martin  could  speak  his  mind  through  sixteen 
guns,  the  Elias  had  thirty  guns  to  roar  through,  the 
Guinea  carried  thirty-six  guns  to  flame  and  shatter.  In 
all,  ninety-two  guns  were  ready  to  blaze  away  at  feeble 
Fort  Amsterdam  and  the  "  wooden  wall."  What  could 
be  done  in  this  hour  of  such  unjust  invasion  ? 

Heer  Director  Stuyvesant  had  the  energy  of  the  best 
Dutch  fighters.  Had  he  not  lost  a  leg  in  stubborn 
fight  ?  He  kept  his  other  leg  and  his  wooden  leg  stir- 
ring, but  how  little  was  the  support  he  could  rally  ! 
Rensselaerswyck  sent  word  that  it  was  in  danger  any 
hour  from  the  savages,  and  could  not  spare  a  man. 
Could  Rensselaerswyck  be  blamed  ?  The  Dutch  farmers 
on  Long  Island  were  summoned.  They  said  they  had 
their  wives  and  property  to  protect.  In  the  midst  of  a 
hostile  English  element— and  it  abounded  on  Long  Island 
—could  they  be  blamed  ?  Stuyvesant  had  ninety  or  one 
hundred  soldiers  he  could  rely  on,  besides  the  loyalty  of 
New  Amsterdam.  He  hurried  messengers  up  to  the 
Esopus  and  other  outposts  calling  for  soldiers,  and  then 


344  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

he  sent  to  the  English  in  those  threatening  frigates  to 
know  what  their  business  was.  What  did  they  mean  ? 
They  had  an  answer  ready  :  they  summoned  him  to  sur- 
render !  Great  was  the  consternation  of  the  bustling 
little  seaport.  The  schout,  the  burgomasters,  the  schep- 
ens,  and  others  met  in  the  Stadt  Huys  and  shook  their 
heads  in  great  alarm. 

They  asked  Stuyvesant  for  a  copy  of  the  summons. 
He  grumbled,  but  consented.  Non-resistance  was  popu- 
lar. Commissioners  came  from  the  English  fleet  pre- 
ceded by  a  flag  of  truce.  They  offered  favorable  terms 
and  placed  in  the  governor's  hands  a  sealed  letter.  In 
the  fort,  in  the  presence  of  his  council  and  the  burgo- 
masters, he  opened  it.  The  burgomasters  wished  this 
paper  to  go  to  the  other  city  magistrates.  Stuyvesant 
refused.  The  burgomasters  insisted  that  "  all  which  re- 
garded the  public  welfare  ought  to  be  made  public." 
This  was  a  doctrine  Stuyvesant  did  not  sympathize  with. 
He  petulantly  tore  the  letter  in  pieces.  Shred  by  shred 
it  fell  upon  the  floor.  The  burgomasters  were  indig- 
nant. They  protested.  They  spoke  of  "  the  conse- 
quences of  dilacerating  that  paper,"  and  went  off,  their 
noses  high  in  air. 

-  The  alarm  in  New  Amsterdam  increased.  Those 
ninety-two  English  guns  had  a  great  influence  in  shap- 
ing public  opinion.  Citizens  began  to  gather  at  the 
Stadt  Huys.  The  work  of  setting  palisades  on  the  land 
side  of  New  Amsterdam  came  to  an  abrupt  close. 


THE   COMIXG   OF   THE   ENGLISH.  345 

"  No  more  of  this,"  said  Isak  Wyckoff,  pulling  back 
his  wheelbarrow  from  a  ditch.  "  It  is  folly  !  Ninety- 
two  English  guns  against  my  wheelbarrow  !  Bah  !' ' 

u  It  is  what  1  say,"  replied  Adam  Smidt,  pulling  his 
wheelbarrow  away  from  a  mound  of  earth.  "  1  love 
Holland,  but  I  am  not  a  fool." 

There  was  a  general  revolt.  The  citizens  at  the  Stadt 
Huys  wanted  a  copy  of  that  letter,  though  it  was  reported 
to  have  been  destroyed. 

Stuyvesant  held  out  as  long  as  possible.  The  frag- 
ments of  the  letter  were  picked  up  and  put  together  and 
delivered  to  the  burgomasters. 

Stuyvesant  saw  his  power  going,  but  he  manfully  stuck 
to  his  guns  as  long  as  possible,  and  sent  to  Nicolls,  the 
English  commander,  an  unfavorable  reply. 

Those  saucy  trespassers,  the  English  ships,  now  were 
threateningly  brought  forward.  Two  were  ordered  to 
disembark  troops  below  Breuckelen.  Two  were  ordered 
to  lie  off  the  city,  broadside  to  the  homes  and  the  hopes 
of  New  Amsterdam. 

The  people  crowded  out  of  their  homes  and  watched 
every  movement. 

"  It  will  be  of  no  use — no  use  to  resist,"  cried  Adam 
Smidt  ;  "  but  I  will  do  my  duty." 

"  Folly,  and  a  flying  in  the  Lord's  face  ;  but  I  will 
be  loyal,"  said  Isak  Wyckoff. 

Hans  went  down  cellar  and  piled  up  some  boxes  and 
casks,  behind  which  he  went  to  smoking. 


346  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

From  the  eastern  gable  Katryne  watched  awhile  the 
ships  below  Breuckelen.  What  could  she  do  ?  She 
was  surprised  to  find  two  currents  of  feeling  sweeping- 
through  her.  She  thought  of  her  old  life  under  the 
Dutch  flag,  and  a  wave  of  strong  conviction  swelled 
within  her  that  if  she  were  the  lieer  Director,  she 
never,  never  would  surrender.  Then  she  recalled  her 
partially  English  training  ;  thought  of  dear  Uncle  Pieter 
and  of  Geertruyd's  husband  ;  shrank  in  fear  from  the 
thought  of  Van  Schenkel,  and  the  wave  of  feeling 
swelling  within  was  now  English. 

"  What  am  I,"  she  cried,  "  English  or  Dutch  ?  I 
cannot  tarry  here  !" 

Out  of  her  room  she  flew.  Her  heart  was  fluttering 
wildly.  She  ran  downstairs,  threw  over  her  head  a  thin 
shawl  that  Lysbet  had  given  her,  and  went  to  the  water 
front  to  stand  there  with  other  women,  all  looking  anx- 
iously toward  the  black  mouths  of  the  English  cannon 
pointed  at  Fort  Amsterdam. 

Stuyvesant  was  in  the  fort. 

The  guns  were  loaded.  The  gunner  had  a  lighted 
match  in  his  hand.  One  word  from  the  Heer  Director, 
and  the  shot  would  be  fired  that  would  involve  the  town 
in  chaos.  Should  Stuyvesant  begin  the  bloody  work  ? 
He  hesitated.  The  gunner  forbore.  The  sound  of  ap- 
proaching steps  was  heard.  Stuyvesant  looked  up,  and 
there  were  the  Rev.  Johannes  Megapolensis  and  the  Rev. 
Samuel  Megapolensis.  They  had  a  respectful  communi- 


THE    f'OMING    OF   THE    ENGLISH.  347 

cation  to  make.  They  asked,  they  begged,  they  en- 
treated the  Heer  Director  not  to  be  the  first  to  shed  the 
blood  of  human  kind.  If  blood  must  run,  let  the  Eng- 
lish start  the  terrible  flow. 

Stuyvesant  assented  to  this  proposed  delay  of  a  Dutch 
cannonade.  Leaving  a  force  of  fifty  men  under  Coun- 
cillor De  Sille  in  the  fort,  he  marched  in  dignity  with  a 
hundred  soldiers  to  oppose  any  landing  by  the  English. 
This  certainly  was  a  justifiable  self-defence.  Hoping 
still  to  keep  back  that  storm  threatening  to  belch  from 
the  English  batteries,  he  sent  commissioners  to  Nicolls, 
doughtily  saying  he  must  stand  the  storm,  but  hoped 
they  might  come  to  a  peaceful  understanding. 

There  was  parleying  of  the  commissioners  with  Com- 
mander Nicolls. 

"  Hoist  the  white  flag  of  peace  at  the  fort,"  was  his 
final  answer,  "  and  then  something  may  be  considered." 

Hoist  the  white  flag  !  Something  then  might  be  con- 
sidered ! 

What  an  earthquake  of  excitement  now  shook  the  lit- 
tle city  ! 

Everybody  was  ready  to  submit  ;  everything  was  ready 
to  give  way. 

Not  everybody — not  everything. 

On  that  wooden  leg  firmly  planted  stood  a  resolute  pil- 
lar—the Stuyvesant  will.  Like  waves  beating  on  a  rock 
swayed  the  supplications  of  New  Amsterdam  about  stout 
old  Stuyvesant.  Many  burghers  and  burghers'  wives 


348  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

and  burghers'  children,  in  tears,  besought  the  wooden 
leg  to  give  way. 

"I  had  rather  be  carried  out  dead,"  asserted  Heer 
Director. 

What  could  be  done  now  ?  His  leg  was  down  ;  what 
would  take  it  up  ?  He  had  got  that  wooden  leg  by  re- 
fusing to  budge  and  back  out  when,  on  the  island  of  St. 
Thomas,  years  ago,  the  drums  were  beating  for  the 
battle  charge.  Ever  since  he  had  never  been  one  to  take 
a  back  step  when  it  was  the  time  for  battle.  An  old 
man,  in  the  habit  of  sticking  to  a  position  taken,  why 
should  he  withdraw  that  leg  now  ? 

There  was  an  important  meeting  at  the  Stadt  Huys. 
Civic  authorities,  military  and  ecclesiastical  also,  met  to 
hear  the  commissioners'  report,  and  then  wise  Johannes 
Megapolensis  moved  that  a  remonstrance  be  presented  to 
the  Director. General  and  the  Council.  It  pleaded  for 
fifteen  hundred  souls,  only  two  hundred  and  fifty  of 
whom  could  bear  arms.  There  was  a  fort  ;  it  could  not 
hold  out  three  days.  Over  against  this  pitiful  array  were 
four  frigates  and  six  hundred  soldiers  !  Then  in  strong 
terms  they  made  their  protest  against  senseless  resistance, 
calling  down  on  "  your  Honors  the  vengeance  of  Heaven 
for  all  the  innocent  blood  which  shall  be  shed  in  conse- 
quence of  your  Honors'  obstinacy." 

Plain  talk  ! 

That  wooden  leg  was  taken  up. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

CHANGES. 

RUB-A-DUB  !  rub-a-club  ! 

A  rattle  of  drums  could  be  heard  one  September  morn- 
ing, the  eighth  of  the  month,  1664.  It  was  the  Dutch 
garrison  marching  out  of  the  old  fort.*  At  the  head  of 
the  column  marched  the  once  Heer  Director.  With  all 
the  honors  of  war  they  marched,  but  it  was  a  fiction. 
What  satisfying  "  honor"  was  there  ?  No,  a  fiction.  And 
was  it  the  real  Stuyvesant  ?  It  is  said  that  he  had  a  de- 
jected air.  It  was  not  the  former  Stuyvesant,  his  head 
erect,  his  eyes  flashing.  I  think  of  him  now  as  walking 
despondently,  his  head  bowed,  his  eyes  cast  down  on  the 
ground,  his  air  that  of  one  suddenly  grown  decrepid. 
The  wooden  leg  that  had  rapped  the  ground  so  smartly 
in  other  days  of  bright  victory,  I  now  hear  it  falling 
heavily,  dismally  upon  the  earth,  and  it  was  like  the 

*  The  fort  was  a  sham.  It  was  the  gunner's  opinion  that  if  the 
fort  opened  fire  in  the  morning,  the  ammunition  would  be  gone  by 
evening.  Then  there  were  other  English  forces  than  those  above 
mentioned.  There  were  volunteers  from  New  England  and  Long 
Island.  These  zealous  warriors,  "  however,  were  prudently  kept  at 
the  Breuckelen  ferry,  '  as  the  citizens  dreaded  most  being  plundered 
by  them.'  "—History  of  the  State  of  New  York,  John  Romeyn 
Brodhead,  Vol.  I.,  p.  743. 


350  BEHIND   MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

sound  of  a  grave-digger's  spade.  It  was  a  funeral  column, 
in  spite  of  the  "drums  beating,  and  colors  flying,  and 
lighted  matches,"  and  as  people  sombrely  watched  it  all, 
what  wonder  if  the  column  had  grown  thin  and  shadowy, 
a  spectral  turnout  with  skeleton  soldiers  and  skeleton 
drummers  and  a  skeleton  Stuyvesant  at  the  head,  all  en- 
closing a  shadowy  coffin  in  which  were  the  dusty  remains 
of  the  old  Dutch  power. 

The  column  moved  slowly,  sullenly  along  the  familiar 
parade-ground  to  that  old  beaver  haunt,  De  Bever  Graft, 
and  then  to  De  Heeren  Graft,  with  its  sleepy  canal. 
Here  boats  were  waiting  to  receive  this  cargo  of  Dutch 
defeat  and  convey  the  garrison  to  that  historic  vessel, 
the  Gideon,  lying  off  in  the  stream  and  bound  for  Hol- 
land the  next  fair  wind.* 

*  Stuyvesant  soon  went  to  Holland  to  "  vindicate  his  conduct." 
His  home,  though,  on  this  side  the  waters,  had  a  hold  on  his  heart 
and  drew  him  back  to  his  farm,  or  "bouwerie,"  a  word  which 
named  that  odd  city-way,  the  Bowery.  Who  thinks  of  green  fields 
as  he  walks  it— that  it  once  led  to  Stuy  vesant's  farm  ?  There  in  a 
courtly  sort  of  a  way  lived  the  rugged  old  ex-governor.  He  was 
a  good  scholar,  his  Latin  name,  Petrus,  seeming  to  suggest  it.  Be- 
hind the  sharp,  flashing  eyes  were  infirmities,  but  there  were  strong 
virtues  also,  for  which  I  have  much  respect.  It  was,  therefore, 
with  a  pilgrim's  interest  that  one  gray,  misty  morning  I  stood  before 
a  tablet  in  the  wall  of  St.  Mark's  Church,  that  rises  where  once  was 
the  green  and  pleasant  "bouwerie"  of  the  last  of  the  Dutch 
governors,  and  I  copied  off  an  inscription  beginning,  "  In  this  vault 
lies  buried  Petrus  Stuyvesant."  He  died  at  the  age  of  eighty. 
What  stillness  within  that  vault !  How  unlike  the  restless  activity 
of  that  old,  last  Dutch  governor  1 


CHANGES.  351 

Rub-a-dub  !  rub-a-dub  ! 

What  was  coining  in  as  that  funeral  pageantry  went 
out  ?  Advancing  down  De  Heeren  Straat,  the  Broad- 
way that  has  so  often  echoed  to  the  tramp  of  soldierly 
columns,  marched  the  troops  of  England  with  firm,  as- 
sured step.  The  fort  was  already  in  their  hands,  a  cor- 
poral's guard  having  slipped  in  when  Holland  had 
marched  out.  The  banner  of  St.  George  floated  above 
the  old  stronghold — or  weakhold— henceforth  to  be  known 
as  Fort  James.  The  new  governor  was  Nicolls.  New 
Amsterdam,  that  had  remembered  a  city  in  Holland, 
took  on  as  New  York  the  name  of  an  Englishman,  the 
Duke  of  York.  Later,  Fort  Orange  became  what  is  still 
a  Dutchman's  pride,  though  under  an  English  name, 
Albany. 

All  this  was  to  be  a  permanent  arrangement,  save  that 
for  a  short  time  (1673-74)  there  was  a  spunky  attempt  to 
make  the  region  and  its  features  Dutch  again. 

Holland  gave  to  America  ennobling  qualities  coming 
out  in  some  of  the  characters  of  this  story  of  life  behind 
Manhattan  gables. 

While  Katryne  had  energy,  that  steadfast  service  at 
New  Haerlem  and  her  patience  in  sickness  proved  that 
Geertruyd  had  endurance  ;  and  Adam  Smidt  and  Isak 
Wyckoff  abounded  in  shopkeeping  knack  and  thrift. 
Holland,  that  was  so  astir  with  energy,  could  yet  endure 
to  martyrdom,  and  so  abounded  in  the  commercial 
instinct  that  if  she  had  been  a  big  island  anchored  fifty 


352  BEHIND  MANHATTAN   GABI/ES. 

miles  off  the  shores  of  Europe  it  is  doubtful  if  England 
ever  would  have  won  the  title  of  mistress  of  the  seas. 
As  it  was,  Holland  so  richly  dowered  her  child  New 
Amsterdam  that  in  New  York,  helped  by  English 
aggressiveness,  Holland  may  win  prizes  far  beyond  her 
most  ambitious  dreams. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

IN    ST.   NIKOLA  AS*    CHUJRCH    AGAIN. 

ANOTHER  change  !  A  new  wonder  !  The  Dutch  sea- 
port growing  bigger  !  A  service  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land was  to  be  held  in  that  house  of  worship  in  the 
old  fort  after  the  English  occupation,  and  it  was  an- 
nounced that  it  would  be  held  at  a  time  subsequent  to 
that  of  the  Dutch  service.  1C  occasioned  great  stir. 

The  late  Heer  Director,  so  distinctly  seeing  his  own 
way  and  not  recognizing  another  man's  right  to  his  way, 
had  given  a  narrowness  to  the  public  administration  of 
church  matters.  Now  there  was  to  be  a  new  breadth  of 
opportunity. 

But  who  would  go  to  the  English  service  ? 

"  Here  is  one  who  will  not  go,"  muttered  Hans, 
smoking  his  Sunday  pipe. 

The  mutter  was  hardly  out  of  him  when  a  voice  ex- 
claimed, "1  thought  1  would  tell  thee,  father;  I  have 
it  in  mind  to  go  to  the  English  service." 

Hans  could  hardly  speak.  He  choked.  He  grew 
purple.  Then  he  grinned.  "  Nobody  from  De  Heeren 
Graft  will  go  with  her,"  he  told  himself.  "  That  may 
end  it.  1  will  not  oppose  her,  for  I  want  her  to  be  ready 


354  BEHIND   MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

to  go  again  to  Holland  with  me.  She  will  not  want  to 
go  alone  to  an  English  service." 

Katryne  was  one  who  conld  champion  an  unpopular 
side  ;  and  then  somehow  the  English  element  in  her  life 
would  not  let  her  stay  at  home.  She  took  in  her  hand 
Aunt  Marytje's  English  prayer-book,  given  Katryne  by 
Uncle  Pieter,  and  left  the  house.  So  solitary  did  she  feel, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  the  neighbors  from  their  stoops  all 
looked  at  her  in  surprise,  each  one  aiming  a  spy-glass  at 
her! 

So  solitary  ? 

No.     A  voice  said,  "  May  I  go  with  thee  ?" 

It  was  Annetje.  » 

"  Thou  art  an  angel,  Annetje.     Come  !" 

Annetje  was  a  chameleon.  To-day  she  did  not  look  the 
witch,  as  she  had  been  at  work  before  the  glass  for  an  hour 
changing  herself  into  a  staid  Dutch  matron.  She  wore 
a  lavender  hood,  a  lavender  dress,  and  lavender  hose. 

The  two  friends  neared  the  fort.  It  looked  the  same. 
And  there  was  the  old  windmill — not  one  of  the  light,  airy 
kind  of  to-day,  but  stout  and  substantial,  with  huge  long 
vanes  like  arms,  with  which  it  threshed  the  wind  that 
had  aroused  it.  Same  windmill,  same  fort ;  but — an 
English  sentinel  in  the  gateway  !  The  same  old  church 
of  St.  Nikolaas,  the  same  aisles,  the  same  pews,  but 
within  was  a  congregation  mostly  English,  the  four 
English  vessels  giving  it  size.  The  same  pulpit,  round 
and  tall,  but  in  it  was  a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  - 


IN"  ST.    NIKOLA  AS*    CHURCH   AGAIN.  355 

England,  the  chaplain  of  the  English  forces,  and  guiding 
the  worship  of  the  people  was  the  prayer-book  of  that 
Church  !* 

Yes,  a  change.  It  meant  a  bigger  growth  for  the  sea- 
port town. 

And  yet  Katryne  felt  much  alone.  She  looked  around 
but  once. 

Annetje,  the  staid  Dutch  matron,  had  big  eyes  for 
everything. 

"Where  was  the  young  Englishman,  Harold  Wharton  ? 

He  was  not  here. 

But  there  was  his  uncle,  Kobert  Wharton.  Annetje 
knew  him. 

Did  Katryne  see  him  ? 

Annetje  looked  at  the  eyes  demurely  fastened  on  the 
prayer-book. 

*  For  about  thirty  years  the  walls  of  the  church  of  St.  Nikolaas 
lovingly  made  room  for  the  services  of  the  Church  of  England  and 
those  of  the  Dutch  Reformed.  The  Dutch  services  would  be  held 
Sunday  morning  ;  in  the  afternoon  would  come  the  English.  This 
close  juxtaposition  of  the  two  bodies  will  account  for  the  kindly 
feeling  between  them  perpetuated  to  this  day  in  New  York.  May 
the  old  church-fort  arrangement  prove  a  prophecy  of  the  time  when 
all  who  are  of  Christ  shall  have  no  wall  between  them,  but  worship 
and  work  as  those  under  one  roof.  Into  Garden  Street  Church,  in 
1693,  went  the  Dutch  fort-service.  Trinity  Church,  a  successor  of  the 
afternoon  fort-service,  was  built  in  1696.  "Good  Queen  Anne" 
gave  the  corporation  of  Trinity  the  "Queen's  Farm,"  and  under 
that  title  the  green  fields  of  the  old  Dutch  West  India  Company 
Farm  came  into  the  possession  of  Trinity. 


356  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

"  She  shall  look  at  him,  and  Harold  too  some  time. 
1  will  bring  them  together.  Now  I  will  be  good,"  re- 
solved the  matron. 

u  I  feel  at  home  here,"  Katryne  soon  was  saying. 

It  was  September,  and  her  fingers  had  chanced  to 
wander  to  the  pages  remembering  "  St,  Michael  and  All 
Angels  ; "  and  to  Katryne's  sensitive  imagination  the  old 
church  seemed  filled  with  beautiful  presences.  A  great 
company  of  the  holy  angels  looked  down.  With  them 
came  others  that  had  sweet  faces  like  Johanna's,  and 
was  another  that  of  the  never-seen  Aunt  Marytje  ? 

"  This  is  a  blessed  place,"  thought  Katryne. 

She  felt  very  much  at  home  and  in  the  presence  of  a 
great  company  of  her  own. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

A  STRANGE   MICHAELMAS  MOBNING. 

AND  now  the  feast-day  in  Katryne's  prayer-book  had 
come,  that  of  "  St.  Michael  and  All  Angels ;"  but  such 
a  strange  Michaelmas  ! 

Katryne  in  a  daze  stood  on  the  stoop  of  her  home,  not 
knowing  whether  it  were  home  or  not,  not  knowing 
what  she  had  better  do.  Michaelmas  !  Was  there  an 
angel  that  pitied  her  ? 

That  thought  was  followed  by  another  :  had  not  one 
angel  pitied  her  that  day  ? 

It  was  such  a  strange  story,  the  life  of  that  short 
Michaelmas.  Only  a  day  ago  Hans  and  Katryne  went  to 
Breuckelen  to  a  husking,  a  merry  Dutch  husking.  They 
did  not  go  by  the  ferry-boat.  It  never  probably  was  a 
very  expeditious  craft  that  ploughed  the  waves  of  East 
River.  At  one  time  the  voyage  covered  an  hour.  The 
craft  must  have  been  more  like  a  big  scow,  and  the 
transportation  of  vehicles  made  this  size  necessary.  The 
day  that  Hans  went  he  considerately  hired  Wubbit  and 
a  special  boat  for  the  voyage.  Then  Hans  and  Katryne 
toiled  along  the  road  that  pleasantly  twisted  through 


358  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

golden  harvest  fields  and  green  groves  to  Breuckelen 
hamlet.* 

On  the  way  Hans  remarked,  "  Thou  knowest,  Ka- 
tryne, that  1  think  we  had  better  go  to  Holland  again  ; 
for  thou  knowest  we  have  heard  that  there  is  money  in 
Holland  for  us  ;  that  we  were  not  told  all  the  truth 
when  we  were  there  ;  and,  to  please  me,  like  a  good 
child,  thou  didst  pack  thy  chest." 

* '  Yes  ;  but  art  thou  minded  to  go  with  Van  Schenkel  i" 

"  That  is  my  mind." 

"  Then  my  mind  cannot  be  thy  mind.  Father,  let  us 
not  talk  about  it  any  more,  for  I  cannot  go  with  Van 
Schenkel,  and  yet  1  do  not  wish  to  disobey  thee." 

"  Wait  till  thou  knowest  more  of  what  1  may  learn  in 
Breuckelen  about  this  fortune,  and  thou  mayest  be  of 
another  mind." 

Breuckelen  ?     He  would  hear  nothing  there. 

Katryne  bit  her  lips  and  held  in  her  tongue  with  one 
of  St.  James'  bridles. 

"  Ah,  Katryne,"  mused  Hans,  "  one  thing  thou  dost 
not  know — that  Van  Schenkel's  ship  is  in  East  River 
now  ;  that  my  chest  is  aboard,  and  on  our  way  back  to 

*  "  The  irregular  road  which  wound  its  way  from  the  ferry  on  the 
Long  Island  side  straggled  to  the  east  of  the  rising  ground  called 
by  the  Indians  '  Iphetauga,'  and  now  known  as  the  Heights,  and 
reached  the  little  settlement  of  Breuckelen  lying  at  a  point  closely 
corresponding  to  the  present  City  Hall.  In  fact,  the  old  road  fol- 
lowed the  general  direction  of  busy  Fulton  Street  of  later  days."  - 
History  of  the  City  of  Brooklyn,  by  Stephen  M.  Ostrauder,  p.  54. 


A   STRANGE    MICHAELMAS   MORNING.  359 

New  York — not  New  York,  no,  never  !  it's  New  Am- 
sterdam still — and  on  our  way  back  there  we  may  meet 
Van  Schenkel's  boats,  and  I  hope  thou  wilt  be  more 
docile  then  and  let  me  send  for  thy  chest  which  thou 
didst  pack." 

The  husking  came  and  went.  It  was  in  a  capacious 
barn,  its  floor  golden  with  big  harvest  heaps,  and  to  it 
rallied  the  young  Dutch  farmers  and  their  sweethearts, 
"  vader"  and  "  moeder,"  too,  keeping  up  a  quiet  watch. 

The  next  day  came  the  return  to  the  ferry.  Down 
the  road  to  the  river  went  Hans  and  Katryne. 

Several  times  he  hemmed  and  stuttered,  "  Kur — Kur 
— Kur— tryne  !" 

"What  is  it,  father?" 

Once  he  said,  "  It  is  a  fair  day,"  and  again,  "  There 
is  the  river."  Finally,  in  sight  of  the  ferry  and  the  boat 
of  the  waiting  Wubbit,  Hans  broke  out,  "  Kur— Kur— 
Kurtryne  !" 

"  Father,  what  is  on  thy  mind  ?" 

"  Thou  wilt  surely  go  to  Holland  now.  My  chest  is 
on  board  Yan  Schenkel's  ship—" 

Katryne  stepped  back  and  held  up  her  hands. 

"  And  I  want  thee  to  send  Wubbit  for  thine." 

A  veil  fell  from  before  Katryne's  eyes.  She  saw  a 
conspiracy  here.  A  flame  came  into  her  eyes. 

"  Father,  Yan  Schenkel  is  at  the  bottom  of  this.  It  is 
all  his  plan.  He  has  thee  in  his  power,  and  thou  canst 
not  even  squirm.  He  owns  our  house,  1  verily  do  fear, 


360  BEHIND    MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

and  1  cannot  say  how  much  more  thou  art  in  his  debt ; 
but  oh,  this  is  not  right  !  Still  I  pity  thee  more  than  I 
blame  thee — and— 

"  Hush  !"  said  Hans. 

There  was  Yan  Schenkel  on  the  shore  !  Near  him 
was  a  boat  and  six  of  his  men  were  in  it. 

Across  her  mind  flashed  this  thought  :  "  If  this  be  St. 
Michael's  Day,  when  he  fought  the  dragon,  then  this 
must  be  the  dragon,"  so  sinister  was  the  face  of  Dirk 
van  Schenkel  ! 

"  Come,  Hans,"  growled  Van  Schenkel,  "  we  are  be- 
hind time,  I  must  be  off  in  half  an  hour.  Do  thou 
take  this  seat  and  Katryne  that." 

"What?  At  once  going?  I  am  not  going!"  said 
Katryne. 

"  Now  come,  child  !"  whimpered  Hans.  "  Here  is 
our  boat  now  ;  and  I'll  send  Wubbit  for  thy  chest,  and 
he  will  bring  it  to  the  ship — " 

"  Father,  I  am  not  going  !" 

"  Proud  as  a  queen,  and  handsomer,"  said  Van  Schen- 
kel in  an  undertone.  He  turned  and  gave  some  order  to 
his  men,  who  rose  from  their  seats. 

"  Will  he  take  me  forcibly  ?"  thought  Katryne. 

She  never  knew  what  he  did  really  mean  ;  but  she 
lifted  up  her  radiant  eyes  and  pleaded,  "  Oh,  have  I  no 
helper  ?" 

The  tramp  of  men  was  heard,  and  down  to  the  ferry 
came  a  group  of  English  sailors,  headed  by  some  petty 


A   STRANGE   MICHAELMAS  MORNING.  361 

officer  ;  but  if  inferior  in  rank  how  superior  in  look  and 
figure — as  noble  and  trusty  as  Dirk  was  vile  and  traitor- 
ous. 

"  St.  Michael  !"  broke  involuntarily  from  Katryne's 
lips.  She  addressed  him  in  English,  her  hands  clasped. 
"  Oil,  sir,  if  thou  canst—" 

"  What  is  it  that  troubles  thee,  fair  lady  ?"  he  asked, 
bowing. 

"Who  dat  twubble?"  fumed  Van  Schenkel,  in  his 
deficient  English.  "  Who — who  art — thou  ?  Myn  wun- 
away,  George  Martin  !"  He  turned  to  his  men  and 
shouted  in  Dutch,  "  Seize  him  !  seize  him  !  he  is  a  de- 
serter from  my  ship." 

Then  Van  Schenkel  came  at  George  with  a  sidelike 
motion,  as  if  a  dragon  about  to  twist  his  coils  round  him. 

St.  Michael  was  ready.  He  seized  the  brute  in  his 
strong  arms,  tossed  him  up  and  threw  him  down.  He 
planted  his  foot  upon  him  and  stood  with  folded  arms, 
looking  down  in  a  noble  contempt  on  the  dragon,  who 
writhed  in  hate,  but  was  helpless. 

Then  this  unconscious  impersonator  of  the  archangel 
stooped,  lifted  the  dragon  and  deposited  him  in  his  boat. 
His  men  followed  and  took  up  their  oars  to  row  him  and 
the  terrified  Hans  off  to  a  ship  waiting  in  the  stream. 

"  Fare  thee  well,  Katryne  !  Thou  wilt  find  that  box 
and  thy  papers  in  the  closet  in  my  room, "  were  the  last 
words  of  Hans. 

Katryne  saw  Hans  and  the  dragon  drifting  away  in 


362  BEHIND   MANHATTAN    GABLES. 

that  boat,  and  in  thought  ever  saw  them  drifting  toward 
a  vessel  that  already  was  loosening  its  sails — a  vessel 
soon  sailing  toward  Helle-G-at.  Katryne  shivered.  She 
never  saw  the  vessel,  or  Van  Schenkel,  or  Hans  again. 
She  went  home,  rowed  by  Wubbit,  to  stand  at  last  on 
the  old  familiar  stoop  in  a  daze,  and  yet  acknowledging 
that  one  strong  angel  had  pitied  and  helped  her  that  day. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

WHAT   NEXT  ? 

"  WHAT  next  ?"  thought  Katryne,  turning  to  the 
door,  with  its  old  familiar  knocker. 

Realizing  her  seemingly  helpless  solitude,  she  had  said 
to  herself  while  crossing  East  River,  rowed  by  the  big 
negro,  "  What  next  shall  1  do  ?  I  could  not  trust  my- 
self to  Van  Schenkel's  care.  Shall  I  follow  father  to 
Holland,  going  in  another  vessel  ?  Where  is  the  money 
for  this  ?  Shall  I  go  to  New  England  and  search  out 
my  relatives,  who  I  know  will  help  me  ?  What  shall  I 
do  ?  There  is  a  vessel  waiting  to  go  to  Boston,  the 
neighbors  say.  Oh,  what  next  ?" 

She  looked  at  the  dog-and-lion  knocker,  and  Cerberus 
and  Leo  each  seemed  to  have  a  voice — that  of  the  words 
on  the  paper  they  once  concealed  :  "  Do  not  go  at  all 
when  thou  knowest  not  the  way." 

"  Ah,  my  friend,"  moaned  Katryne,  as  she  thought 
of  Geertruyd's  husband,  "  how  lonely  1  am  !  I  will 
heed  thy  counsel.  All  alone  am  1  !" 

And  how  desolate  was  the  house  she  entered  !  She 
was  so  bewildered,  she  sat  down  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands.  The  future  she  knew  not ;  the  present 


364  BEHIND    MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

was  an  awful  abyss  into  which  she  seemed  sinking. 
More  than  this,  she  hardly  had  had  time  to  think  when, 
without  any  attention  to  Cerberus  and  Leo,  the  door 
was  abruptly  thrown  back,  and  in  came  Van  Arsdale,  the 
tapster  ! 

"  Oh  !  oh  !"  he  said,  giving  a  toss  to  his  scarlet  skull- 
cap with  its  black  fez  ;  "  I  thought  Katryue  Schuyler  and 
Hans  had  departed  for  Holland.  My  employer,  Dirk 
van  Schenkel,  told  me  to  come  and  take  possession  here. ' ' 

"  Another  evil  angel  ?  No  more  good  ones  to-day  ?" 
thought  Katryne.  "  Thought  I  had  gone  !  This  fellow 
was  told  to  take  possession  !  Then  it  was  planned 
and  expected  that  Katryne  would  go  !  What  a  con- 
spiracy to  which  my  father  lent  himself  !"  She  made 
no  audible  reply  to  the  man. 

"  I  have  come,"  said  Yan  Arsdale,  the  black  shadow 
of  the  dragon,  "  to  take  possession.  What  hast  thou 
to  say  ?" 

"  Possession  ?     By  what  right  ?"  demanded  Katryne. 

"  Oh,  a  creditor's  right  !  Thy  father  is  heavily  in 
debt  to  Yan  Schenkel,  and  this  furniture  is  all  his—" 

"  No,  Yan  Arsdale.     This  is  Lysbet's." 

"  Thou  wilt  find  out.  I  don't  know  whose  the  house 
is,  but  the  furniture  will  be  Yan  SchenkePs.  Hans  must 
pay  his  debts." 

"  Dragged  off  to  Holland  by  that  Yan  Schenkel,  and 
now  thou,  his  servant,  his  tool,  coming  to  take  the  fur- 
niture !  Can  I  never  get  away  from  that  man  ?' ' 


WHAT   NEXT  ?  365 

"  Not  till  thy  father  pays  his  debts." 

Rap  !  rap  !  rap  ! 

It  was  some  one  knocking  at  a  door  into  the  garden. 

Katryne  was  glad  to  have  an  excuse  for  going  from 
the  presence  of  Van  SchenkePs  tool. 

She  opened  the  door  into  the  garden,  and  there  stood 
— Uncle  Pieter  !  Pie  had  in  his  arms  a  big,  soiled  bun- 
dle. Gone  all  these  months,  but  come  at  last  on  such  a 
day,  hanging  his  head  as  of  old,  shabby  as  ever,  and 
wanting  his  morning  schnapps  probably  !  Of  all  things, 
a  call  from  Uncle  Pieter  ! 

uOh!"  cried  Katryne. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  very  sky  were  falling  and  earth 
were  yawning  to  receive  it  and  Katryne.  This  in  addi- 
tion to  everything  else — Uncle  Pieter  on  this  day  of 
trouble  and  in  this  fashion  !  He  did  not  look  up,  but 
held  out  his  hand  as  if  for  beer. 

"  Katryne,  art  not  thou  pleased  to  see  thine  Uncle 
Pieter?" 

Conscience  accused  her.  . 

"  Yes  ;  forgive  me,  thy  Katryne  !" 

She  burst  into  tears,  covered  her  face  with  her  hands, 
and  leaned  against  a  door-post. 

"  Why,  Kaatje,  my  dear,  my  darling,  what  is  it  j"  he 
asked  tenderly,  springing  to  her  side  and  throwing  his 
arm  about  her.  "  Did  I  surprise  thee  ?  Forgive  me, 
Kaatje  !" 

"Oh,  I  am— all— all— alone  !" 


366  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

"  Come  in— this  way.     Let  me  comfort  thee." 

He  led  her  within,  and  then  he  saw  Van  Arsdale. 

"  Ho  !  ho  !"  roared  Van  Arsdale,  recognizing  Pieter. 
"  Where  hast  tliou  been,  man  ?  Come  for  thy  schnapps  ?" 

"  Be  still  !     Speak  when  thou  art  spoken  to  !" 

"  Putting  on  airs,  art  thou,  Yan  Twiller  ?  Come  to 
my  tables  and  thou  wilt  get  rid  of  them.  But  let  that 
go.  Katryne,  I  am  here  to  look  after  this  furniture.  It 
must  be—" 

Rap  !  rap  !  rap  !  now  barked  and  roared  the  knocker, 
and  louder,  as  if  to  make  up  for  its  silence  when  Van 
Arsdale  brushed  by  it. 

Katryne  opened  the  door,  and  there  were  Annetje  and 
a  stranger. 

"  Katryne,  I  have  brought  Heer  Wharton  to  thee, 
Harold's  uncle,  who  wanted  to  know  something  ;  and  1 
brought  him  to  thee." 

"  There,"  said  the  witch  to  herself  as  she  went  away, 
"  I  wanted  to  do  something  toward  bringing  the  young 
people  together  ;  and  when. the  uncle  in  the  street  want- 
ed to  know  if  I  could  tell  him  of  one  Pieter  van  Twiller, 
I  brought  Heer  Wharton  to  Katryne,  the  friend  of 
Wharton' s  nephew.  One  and  one  make  two,  and  only 
two  can  make  a  wedding." 

Off  she  skipped. 

"  I  have  heard  of  thee,  and  I  would  inquire  about 
thine  Uncle  Pieter,"  said  Robert  Whartou,  as  he  gave  a 
stately  bow. 


WHAT   NEXT  ?  367 

"  Ho  is  here  to  speak  for  himself,"  cried  Uncle  Pieter. 
"  My  brother  in  the  wilderness,  I  am  verily  rejoiced  to 
see  thee. " 

"  Come,  come  !"  said  Van  Arsdale  roughly.  "  It  is 
well  for  thy  guests  to  shake  hands,  as  they  are  doing  ; 
but,  Katryne,  my  time  is  precious.  What  time  shall  I 
take  the  furniture  away  ?  Thy  father  has  gone  to  Hol- 
land—" 

"  Hold  !"  said  Pieter  in  a  commanding  tone  to  the 
tool  of  Van  Schenkel.  "No  more,  Van  Arsdale!  I 
have  something  to  say,  and  I  would  say  it,  too,  before 
my  brother  in  the  wilderness.  I  speak  in  Dutch,  which 
you,  Van  Arsdale,  understand  ;  and  he,  Robert  Whar- 
ton,  knows  it  well  enough  also  to  understand  me.  Ka- 
tryne's  father  gone  to  Holland  '(  Katryne,  1  am  thy 
father  !" 

He  stepped  to  her  side.  She  looked  up  in  tearful  as- 
tonishment. Van  Arsdale  sneered.  Robert  Wharton 
gave  a  smile  of  congratulation. 

"  Hear  my  story — all  of  ye — though  it  brings  to  me  no 
credit.  I  am  this  girl's  father.  After  the  death  of  my 
dear  wife,  Marytje,  I  was  most  miserable,  and  I  foolishly 
drowned  my  misery  in  drink.  Not  fully  comprehending 
what  I  was  doing,  I  took  a  step  that  will  seem  strange 
to  you,  but  which  I  tried  to  justify  to  myself,  though  I 
was  in  no  condition,  really,  to  justify  what  I  was  doing. 
When  I  was  under  the  influence  of  rny  old  enemy, 
schnapps,  I  signed  a  paper  by  which  Hans  Schuyler  took 


368  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

my  baby,  Katryne,  as  his.  He  and  Lysbet  wanted  a 
child,  and  then  if  there  were  one,  Hans  would  partly 
inherit,  but  this  child  would  mostly  inherit  some  property 
in  Holland.  Until  the  child  was  twenty  I  agreed  to  say 
nothing,  for  it  was  thought  a  word  to  Katryne  would 
make  her  uneasy,  and,  besides  that,  how  could  I  say 
anything  ?  She  was  brought  up  comfortably  and  re- 
spectably, and  I  had  only  a  drunkard's  name  to  give  her. 
She  would  have  money  from  Holland,  and  1  could  only 
give  her  my  debts  to  pay.  It  seemed  as  if  kindness  to 
her  demanded  the  surrender  of  my  babe.  So  Hans  took 
her.  Hans  had  said  I  should  never  be  without  my 
morning  dram  if  I  wanted  it,  and  I  became  such  a  slave 
to  it  that  1  could  not  seem  to  go  without  it,  and  low  1 
sank  ;  and  yet  all  the  time  I  meant  when  1  could  be  a 
credit  to  my  Katryne  to  come  to  her,  to  tell  her  all  and 
say  I  was  her  father.  It  was  my  Katryne  who  told  me 
to  stop  the  evil  habit  of  drink,  and  she  helped  me  stop  ; 
and  since  the  war  at  the  Esopus  closed  I  have  been  here 
twice  to  see  her,  but  the  taverns  and  the  tap-rooms 
tempted  me,  and  I  dared  not  remain.  I  have  been  in 
England  for  long  months,  and  now  our  Heavenly  Father 
has  given  me  strength,  and  I  am  here  to  say  if  my  poor 
child  will  forgive  me  and  receive  me — : 

He  dropped  into  a  chair  near  him  ;  he  bowed  his  head 
in  his  misery  ;  he  moaned,  "  If  she  will  forgive — " 

She  did  not  allow  him  to  say  more.  She  rushed  swiftly 
to  his  side.  She  took  his  bowed  gray  hairs  to  her  bosom. 


WHAT   NEXT  ?  369 

"  Father,  dear  father,  it  is  all  past— all  past,  and  thy 
Kaatje  is  proud  of  thee  in  the  war.  Thou  wast  a  hero. 
Thy  Kaatje  loves  thee  and  always  did.  Heer  Whar- 
ton,  speak  to  my  father.  Say  to  him—" 

"  Brother, "said  Robert  Wharton  tenderly,  "  the  God 
that  met  thee  and  me  in  the  wilderness,  and  who  kept 
us,  bless  and  keep  thee  now  !  Thou  hast  done  a  manly 
thing  and  made  a  manly  confession." 

"  1  don't  know,"  sneeringly  said  Yan  Arsdale.  "  I 
have  heard  that  man  say  under  my  roof  when  drunk 
that  he  was  Katryne  Schuyler's  father.  Once  only,  I 
allow,  did  he  babble  that  ;  and  he  says  it  now  ;  but  who 
knows  if  it  is  true  ?  I  thought  nothing  of  it  then,  and 
now — " 

"  Van  Arsdale,  be  silent  !"  commanded  Katryne. 

"  Thou  caitiff  !"  roared  Robert. 

"  No,  no,  I  am  no  caitiff.  I  can  take  care  of  thee, 
Englishman  !" 

Big  Van  Arsdale  could  easily  have  handled  Robert 
Wharton. 

"  I  wish  to  have  no  quarrel  with  thee  or  with  him 
either  ;  but  it  is  sense  to  ask  where  is  the  proof  ?  He 
said  to  me  when  drunk  that  he  was  her  father,  and  I 
did  not  think  it  true  ;  and  where  is  the  proof  now  ?  I 
give  thee  good  counsel  ;  look  into  this.  He  must  make 
others  see  it  even  as  he  claims  it.  It  is  no  light  thing, 
for  it  means  what  shall  be  done  with  property." 

An  awful  pause  came  here  to  Katryne  and  Robert 


370  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

Wharton.  They  saw  the  importance  of  Van  Arsdale's 
words.  The  bowed  Pieter  seemed  to  have  too  heavy  a 
burden  of  shame  on  his  gray  hairs  to  be  able  to  lift  them 
to  make  any  assertion  for  himself.  Where  was  the  proof 
of  his  words  ? 

Across  this  silence  suddenly  came  to  Katryne  the  voice 
of  Hans  Schuyler,  "  Thou  wilt  find  that  box  and  thy 
papers  in  the  closet  in  my  room!"  "Thy  papers." 
Papers  about  a  will  in  favor  of  one  Katryne  ?  And  did 
not  Lysbet  say  she  had  put  a  statement  or  something  in 
a  box  ?  Light  flooded  Katryne's  mind. 

Katryne  sprang  away,  saying,  "  I  believe  this  is  my 
father,  and  I  can  show  it  to  others,  I  think.  Wait,  wait 
a  few  minutes  !" 

She  left  Robert  Wharton  whispering  to  Pieter, 
"  Cheer  up,  brother  !  We  will  get  the  proof  some- 
where that  will  convince  him.  Thy  word  answers  for 
me." 

Van  Arsdale  went  to  a  window  muttering,  "  He 
wants  to  get  a  claim  on  this  property,  and  so  he  says  he 
is  the  girl's  father.  It  is  a  trick.  I  must  look  after  Van 
Schenkel's  interests — and  my  own." 

Katryne  soon  came  back  smiling,  and  waving  triumph- 
antly several  papers. 

"Now  hear  me  read — hear,  father,  what  was  stolen 
out  of  that  box  I  told  thee  of. " 

Pieter  raised  his  head.     The  big  tears  were  in  his  eyes. 

She  began  to  read  a  brief  preface,  and  then  said  in 


WHAT   XEXT  ?  371 

measured  tones,  "  '  I,  Marytje,  the  wife  of  Pieter  van 
Twiller,  bequeath  to  my  daughter  Katryne — '  "  Pieter 
was  on  his  feet  now — "  *  my  silver  mug,  my  Bible  ' — 
that  is  enough,  father  !" 

He  was  at  her  side.  He  took  her  in  his  arms.  He 
kissed  her  triumphantly.  "  My  darling  child  !"  he 
cried  proudly. 

"But  listen,"  began  Katryne  again,  "hear  what 
Lysbet  wrote  and  put  in  the  box  where  1  found  my  dear 
mother's  will." 

In  Lysbet's  statement  she  lamented  her  want  of  cour- 
age to  tell  Katryne  at  an  earlier  date  about  her  parentage, 
that  she  was  the  child  of — "  hear !"  cried  Katryne — 
"  the  child  of  Pieter  van  Twiller  and  his  wife  Marytje. 
Hear,  my  dear  father  !" 

Then  she  read  on,  how  Lysbet  wished  to  give  to  Ka- 
tryne the  furniture  in  the  house,  "  which  is  mine,"  said 
Lysbet  ;  "  and  I  give  it  to  the  child  of  Pieter  and 
Marytje." 

"  That  is  the  furniture  in  the  house  ;  but  the  house  ?" 
gasped  Van  Arsdale. 

O         L 

Robert  Wharton  now  spoke. 

"  Let  me  ease  thy  mind  by  saying  to  thee  that  yester- 
day I  agreed  to  buy  this  of  Hans  Schuyler,  only  I  am  to 
pay  some  of  his  creditors,  and  thy  master  is  not  among 
those  he  named.  Some  property  belonging  to  the 
Wharton  family  has  been  heard  from,  and  it  was  mis- 
managed, and  the  mismanage!*  is  in  prison,  and  yet  it 


372  BEHIND   MANHATTAN"   GABLES. 

turns  out  that  enough  has  been  saved  to  give  a  bountiful 
help  to  ray  nephew  and  me.  My  part  I  put  into  this 
house,  but  it  is  for  my  nephew,  hoping  he  will  soon 
marry." 

Here  he  looked  smilingly,  approvingly  at  Katryne  ; 
but  she  had  dropped  her  eyes  at  the  words  "  my 
nephew,  hoping  he  will  soon  marry,"  and  was  saying  to 
herself,  "  It  will  give  dear  Geertruyd  a  home  of  her 
own." 

"Now,  friend,"  continued  Kobert  Wharton,  but 
turning  to  Van  Arsdale,  u  thou  didst  give  us  good  coun- 
sel. Take  thou  this  piece  of  counsel  I  give  thee,  to  go 
home." 

"I  will  do  it,"  meekly  said  the  big  Van  Arsdale; 
and  off  he  went. 

Katryne  and  Kobert  Wharton  were  busily  talking,  and 
did  not  at  once  discover  that  they  were  alone. 

At  last  Katryne  asked,  "  "Where  is  my  dear  father  ?" 
She  went  through  the  house  calling,  "  Father  !  Dear 
father  !"  She  could  not  find  him.  She  ran  to  the  gar- 
den door.  She  saw  a  package.  "  Oh,  is  that  the  soiled 
paper  bundlein  whichhe  probably  brought  some  clothes  ?" 

No,  she  could  not  find  it,  only  a  package  of  old  pipes 
Hans  had  forgotten  to  take  away. 

"  I  am  glad,"  thought  Katryne,  "  that  Heer  Wharton 
did  not  see  that  soiled  bundle  brought  by  my  poor  father. " 

Suddenly,  like  a  sunflower  breaking  from  its  bud,  ap- 
peared at  the  door  of  a  neighboring  shed — but  who  was  it  ? 


WHAT  NEXT  ?  373 

A  most  richly  dressed  burgomaster,  she  concluded,  or 
else  a  patroon,  and  her  heart  smote  her.  She  had  heard 
Hans  say  one  might  call  to  go  round  the  house  and  gar- 
den, perhaps  to  make  a  bargain  for  the  place. 

"  I  will  not  meet  this  man,"  she  affirmed,  "  unless  he 
comes  to  the  house.  It  belongs,  or  will  belong  to  Heer 
Wharton." 

Round  the  house  went  this  sunflower,  this  golden 
cloud,  this  shining  patroon. 

"  I  wish  he  would  hold  up  his  head.  He  must  be 
some  patroon,"  declared  Katryne. 

He  would  not  hold  up  his  head.  Soon  Cerberus  and 
Leo  jointly  barked  and  roared. 

"  Dear  Heer  Wharton,  wouldest  thou  answer  the 
knock  for  me  ?  It  is  some  big  patroon  that  is  coming 
to  buy  the  house.  Say,  I  pray  thee,  it  is  sold. " 

"  Trust  me  to  pack  him  off  !"  said  Robert  Wharton  ; 
but  instead  he  let  him  in,  and  there  was  Pieter  van 
T wilier,  bowing  to  Katryne  and  bowing  so  grandly  ! 
Oh,  how  he  shone  !  He  wore  a  rich  coat  of  yellow  silk — 
silk  all  the  way  from  China  ;  breeches  of  white  silk, 
hose  of  blue,  and  his  doublet  was  of  blue  satin.  If  he 
had  been  the  Emperor  of  China's  right-hand  mandarin 
he  could  not  have  looked  handsomer,  nobler.  There 
were  greetings  given,  and  this  mandarin  from  China 
kissed  the  laughing,  blushing  Katryne,  and  he  said,  "  I 
pray  thee,  forgive  me,  Kaatje.  I  could  but  leave  my 
old  clothes  somewhere,  and  they  are  in  the  shed.  For- 


374  BEHIND   MAKHATTAiiT  GABLES. 

give  me  if  1  boast  a  little  of  my  good  luck,  for  I  have 
been  in  England,  using  in  the  fur-trade  what  I  received 
in  the  war,  and  have  been  prospered,  and  I  had  op- 
portunity to  find  out  about  the  Wharton  estate,  and  I 
did  tell  a  barrister  to  send  my  brother  word." 

"  Was  it  thou  who  didst  it  ?  How  much  I  owe  thee, 
getting  me  out  of  the  wilderness  and  then  getting  me  a 
fortune  !"  said  Robert  Wharton. 

"  I  am  proud  of  my  father,"  said  the  happy  Katryne. 

"  And  now,  Kaatje  dear,  thy  father  will  go  to  the 
market,"  said  the  mandarin  from  China,  "  and  we  will 
have  a  Michaelmas  feast." 

Such  a  feast !  On  the  table  was  no  temptation  by 
way  of  schnapps.  Indeed,  Katryne  told  herself,  "  1 
shall  go  down  into  the  cellar  on  the  morrow  with  my 
sand-broom,  and  it  will  not  be  sand  I  brush  from  all  the 
shelves  in  the  wine-closet." 

Yes,  such  a  happy  Michaelmas  feast,  and  good  angels 
seemed  to  be  everywhere. 

And  when  Katryne  went  to  her  room  and  lay  down  on 
her  couch  St.  Michael  seemed  to  be  at  her  right  hand. 
The  last  purpose  she  had  was  this  :  "  1  will  go  to  clear 
Geertruyd's  in  the  morning,  for  she  is  at  home,  and  tell 
her  that  Heer  Wharton  will  buy  this  house  for  her  hus- 
band." She  had  one  sharp  pain  in  her  heart,  but  St. 
Michael  seemed  to  lay  his  hand  on  it  and  say,  "  Be 
strong,  dear  child,  thou  shalt  have  grace.  With  grace 
from  God  will  come  thy  peace." 


CHAPTER  XXTOI. 

TWO    MAIDENS    AGAIN. 

GEEBTBUYD  SMIDT'S  spinning-wheel  was  turning — 
whirr-r-r-r  !  If  her  stock  of  linen  were  to  be  equal  to 
the  emergency  of  marriage,  she  must  attempt  something 
in  leisure  hours. 

"  Geertruyd,"  her  father  had  laughingly  said,  "  thou 
shalt  have  two  good  feather  beds,  all  the  pots  and  pans 
thy  husband  can  carry  in  four  good  loads  ;  and  if  he  can 
milk  a  cow,  then  Tanneken  is  thine." 

But  ah  !  when  Geertruyd  would  be  married,  she 
could  not  say.  That  hide-away  husband  of  last  year  she 
had  accustomed  herself,  or  made  the  effort,  to  regard 
as  wedded  to  Katryne.  And  Katryne  deserved  him. 
A  fine  husband  like  that  young  Englishman  would  set  off 
Katryne  even  as  jewels  from  Amsterdam's  shops  the 
comeliness  of  a  Dutch  maid.  In  Geertruyd's  opinion 
Katryne  was  so  gifted  that  if  she  had  the  opportunity 
she  would  be  as  learned  as  Dr.  Alexander  Carolus  Curtius 
or  the  Rev.  ^Egidius  Luyck,  teachers  of  New  Amster- 
dam's Latin  and  High  School,  so  far  famed  that  young 
students  from  the  banks  of  the  Delaware  and  from 


376  BEHIND  MANHATTAN  GABLES. 

Virginia  came  here  to  receive  an  education.  Yes, 
Katryne  was  very  bright.  Whirr-r-r-r  ! 

Not  so  very  fast  art  thou  running,  O  spinning-wheel  ! 

Geertruyd  was  still  weak.  Small-pox  and  fever  were 
the  physical  scourges  of  New  Netherland,  and  Geer- 
truyd, after  nursing  her  fever  patients,  was  sick  herself. 
There  she  lay  upon  her  bed,  her  light  brown  hair  brushed 
back  from  her  fair  temples,  her  face  very  white  and  thin, 
very  still,  Geertruyd  never  complaining,  ever  trying  to  be 
cheerful.  As  nurse  and  patient  she  had  shown  the 
Dutch  quality  of  endurance  that  could  rise  to  martyrdom. 
Upon  her  face,  so  full  of  peace,  the  angel  Health  left 
at  last  the  smile  of  his  presence  ;  and  what  a  happy  day 
that  was  when  Adam  Smidt  guided  his  old  Dutch 
wagon  bearing  Geertruyd,  as  cautiously  as  if  it  had  been 
a  baby-carriage,  all  the  way  down  the  island,  past  the 
Stuyvesant  bouwerie  and  other  fair  fields  to  the  land 
poort,  and  so  home.  She  was  not  strong,  though,  and 
Geertruyd's  spinning-wheel  did  not  go  with  the  old 
swiftness.  But  ah  !  here  was  Katryne  coming  in  like  a 
wind  from  the  beautiful  west. 

"  Thou  dear  little  white  tulip,"  she  cried  to  Geer- 
truyd, "  thou  art  still  weak  !  1  have  come  over  to  tell 
thee  some  strange  news.  Oh,  it  would  fill  a  Spanish  gal- 
leon ;  but  first  run  out  into  the  garden  and  get  a  breath 
of  this  wholesome  air,  and  some  of  the  bloom  of  thy 
father's  famous  peaches,  may  it  get  into  thy  cheeks.  I 
will  spin  for  thee." 


TWO   MAIDENS  AGAIN.  377 

So  Katryne  sat  down  to  spin.  No  ;  first  she  must 
repair  a  sand  heap  on  the  floor  Geertruyd  had  built  up  to 
represent  the  Stadt  Huys,  and  which  Katryne  had  stepped 
on,  making  it  look  like  a  Long  Island  shore-hummock 
after  a  storm.  Then  there  was  one  of  the  tiles  supposed 
to  tell  the  story  of  Jacob  and  the  angels  at  Bethel.  The 
angel  next  to  the  fire  was  very  much  soiled. 

"  He  looks  like  a  chimney-sweep  just  going  into  the 
fireplace.  At  Michaelmas  all  angels  should  look  very 
comely,"  said  Katryne,  wiping  the  sooty  cherub. 

Then  how  she  made  that  wheel  fly  !  Whirr-r-r  ! 
Whirr-r-r  !  Whirr-r-r  !  Yes,  this  was  Dutch  energy. 

Geertruyd  out  in  the  garden  leaned  against  a  peach- 
tree  for  support.  It  was  good  to  breathe  the  warm 
autumn  air  and  hear  the  wind  rustle  the  leaves  clinging 
to  the  tree  boughs.  This  was  the  garden,  she  thought, 
into  which  Katryne's  friend  had  come.  There,  at  the 
right,  was  the  shed  where  he  had  hidden  away.  She 
thought  of  it  as  a  cage  where  she  had  concealed  her 
precious  bird,  and  she  thought,  too,  of  the  food  and  milk 
she  had  set  outside  the  door.  She  would  like  to  see  him 
again,  though  she  supposed  she  ought  not,  even  if  she 
could,  but  must  leave  him  fully  and  forever  to  Katryne. 

"  Alas  !"  she  sighed.  Then  she  prayed  to  be  forgiven 
for  the  escape  of  that  regret,  an  ebullition  of  selfishness 
from  a  wicked  heart. 

See  him  1  Oh,  dear,  she  ought  not  even  to  think  of 
him  !  And  yet  in.  her  very  sickness  at  New  llaerlem  it 


378  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

would  seem  as  if  he  came  every  day  from  New  Amster- 
dam up  the  long  road  that  wound  by  the  door  and  so 
on  to  Boston.  He  would  stop  and  come  into  her  room 
and  look  tenderly  at  her,  and  she  would  let  him  stay 
there  longer  than  she  ought,  and  she  was  very  sorry  for 
it  now.  She  was  weak  then,  arid  could  not  seem  to 
help  it ;  but  now  she  was  strong  enough  certainly  to 
banish  him  from  her  thoughts  for  dear  Katryne's  sake  ; 
and  he  must  go  into  immediate  exile.  Still  she  regret- 
ted that  she  could  not  see  him  once  more  and — and — 
did  her  eyes  bewitch  and  deceive  her  ?  There  he 
was  ! 

Unless  a  spirit,  he  was  actually  looking  into  the  gar- 
den !  A  spirit  ?  Had  he  been  shot,  killed  ?  How  her 
heart  fluttered  in  pain  !  It  was  an  exquisite  pain,  though, 
as  long  as  he  made  it.  A  spirit  ?  He  was  finely  dressed 
now  in  some  kind  of  uniform.  Were  the  inhabitants  of 
another  world  thus  arrayed  ?  A  spirit  ?  He  was  speak- 
ing. Could  he  come  in  and  thank  her  ?  Did  he  say 
that  ? 

"  Oh  !  oh  !"  she  was  gasping,  and  ought  to  have 
said,  "  No  ;"  but  she  could  only  seem  to  hold  out  her 
handi  to  warn  Katryne's  beloved  away  ;  and  then  in  her 
weakness  she  fainted  and  fell.  The  next  thing  that  she  felt 
was  the  pressure  of  very  strong,  tender  arms  about  her, 
and  somebody  was  carrying  her  toward  the  house.  She 
had  been  trying  to  keep  him  away,  and  there  she  was  right 
in  his  arms  1  And  if  she  gave  way  to  the  delight  of 


"TWO   MAIDENS  AGAIH.  379 

this  consciousness,  just  for  the  moment,  could  she  be 
blamed  ?  It  was  so  delightful  to  feel  the  uplift  of  those 
arms. 

Katryne  heard  the  noise  of  feet  heavier  than  Geer- 
truyd's,  and  ran  to  see  Geertruyd  in  the  arms  of  a  man, 
even  her  brave  Michaelmas  deliverer  ! 

Geertruyd  gasped,  "  This  is  my — thy — my — thy  friend 
that  1  told  thee  about — in  our  garden — in  the  shed. 
Oh  !  oh  !  drop  me  !  drop  me  !" 

This  last  sentence  was  a  plea  with  her  bearer. 

"  My  friend,  now,  yes  !"  exclaimed  the  astonished 
Katryne.  "  Thou  wast  a  stranger  until  yesterday, 
and  then  my  valiant  helper.  How  much  I  owe  thee  ! 
Thou  art  very  welcome.  1  can  never  repay  thee." 

"  Say  no  more  about  thy  debt.  Yes,  I  was  an  entire 
stranger,  but  gladly  was  I  thy  helper,"  said  the  angel 
in  uniform. 

"  An  entire  stranger  !" 

Katryne  and  Geertruyd  looked  at  one  another. 

What  veils  fell  from  their  eyes,  and  what  burdens 
rolled  from  their  hearts  ! 

"  I  did  not  know  that  thou  wast  Geertruyd' s  friend. 
I  thought  it  was  another,"  murmured  Katryne. 

"  May  I  say  '  Geertruyd  '  ?"  he  asked. 

Nobody  forbade  him. 

"  Am  I  not  her  friend  ?  She  is  my  friend,  for  she 
greatly  befriended  me." 

The  soul  of  Geertruyd  was  thrilled  with  rapture,  and 


380  BEHIND  MANHATTAN  GABLES. 

her  happy  face  shone  with  new  beauty.  Sagaciously 
Katryne  did  not  give  any  directions  as  to  the  treatment 
of  a  convalescent  who  had  been  surprised  into  a  fainting 
fit — in  what  chair  she  might  be  deposited,  or  whether  her 
f ather  might  be  summoned — but  left  those  two  alone  and 
stole  out  of  the  house.  Geertruyd's  garden  attracted 
Katryne,  and  there  she  could  by  herself  think  over  the 
last  strange  thing  that  had  happened. 

A  voice,  though,  delayed  her  as  she  was  stepping  into 
the  garden. 

Somebody  was  bowing  in  a  very  courteous  fashion, 
and  yet  his  air  was  distant.  "  May  1  ask,  lady,  if  you 
may  have  seen  a  young  English  officer  hereabouts  ?" 

How  reserved  his  manner,  as  if  talking  with  "  an 
entire  stranger  !' ' 

"  A  maid  thought  I  would  find  him  here,"  he 
added. 

The  maid  was  Annetje.  She  had  seen  Katryne  enter 
Geertruyd's  house,  and  what  she  said  was  this  :  "  You 
will  find  him  there,  or  somebody  else." 

How  the  witch  skipped  when  she  saw  Katryne  and 
Harold  Wharton  meeting  !  "  That  is  what  I  wanted," 
said  the  witch. 

Katryne's  heart  was  now  going  faster  than  Geertruyd's 
ever  went  in  this  very  same  garden.  "  Yes,  he  is  in  the 
house,"  she  said  mechanically,  her  eyes  dropping. 

"  Could  I  see  him,  did  you  say  ?" 

11 1  think  he  is — oc — occupied  now." 


TWO   MAIDENS   AGAIN.  381 

"  Oh  !"  he  exclaimed  in  his  coldest  tone  yet,  and 
bowed  and  was  moving  on. 

"  Wilt  thou  not  wait  ?  I  am  afraid  I  have  not  been 
kind  to  thee,  though  I  meant  no  unkindness." 

She  held  out  her  hand  and  looked  at  him  now.  It 
was  a  straight,  true  look.  Their  eyes  met,  and  all  his 
coldness  melted  away  in  the  sincere  warmth  of  that  recog- 
nition. He  seized  eagerly  the  most  coveted  thing  in  the 
world — even  her  hand. 

"  Not  kind  ?"  he  asked,  as  if  her  manner  had  been 
always  kind  and  never  in  its  effect  cruel. 

"I  did  not  mean  to  be  unkind  ;  but  I — thought — 
thou — must  be  somebody  else." 

She  was  crying. 

Why  she  cried  she  could  hardly  say,  but  she  gave  way 
to  her  mood. 

Who  can  stand  tears  that  make  the  appeal  of  one's 
eyes  more  irresistible  than  ever  ? 

Harold  Wharton  was  all  submission. 

"  Darling,  come  this  way  !"  and  he  led  her  blushing 
and  weeping  to  a  cluster  of  peach-trees,  whose  foliage 
made  a  friendly  bower.  "  There  has  been  some  mis- 
take, and  thou  lovest  me  ?"  he  asked. 

Her  head  went  up  and  down  emphatically,  while  her 
confession  was  :  "  All — this — long  time — ever  since  1 
saw — thee  first." 

"  I  love  thee  too  with  all  my  heart ;  don't  cry — but  tell 
me,  darling,  all  about  it,  and  let  me  bring  thee  comfort." 


382  BEHIND   MANHATTAN   GABLES. 

And  there,  in  the  retired  little  peach  nook,  in  Adam 
Smidt's  garden,  Katryne  explained  to  Harold,  and 
Harold  comforted  Katryne.  It  took  them  as  long  a  time 
amid  the  peach-trees  as  it  took  George  Martin  and 
Geertruyd  Smidt  in  the  house. 

Of  course,  in  due  season  these  young  people  "  maide 
procklemation  of  thare  banns,"  as  a  New  Amsterdam 
document  puts  it.  "  Three  several  days,"  from  the  pul- 
pit of  St.  Nikolaas'  Church,  were  they  published  as  can- 
didates for  matrimony,  and  Annetje's  big  eyes  filled 
with  a  sunny  delight  as  she  heard  it  all. 

When  married,  these  parties  that  had  been  identified 
with  life  in  New  Amsterdam,  did  a  sensible  and  pleasant 
thing  when  they  all  settled  down  to  live  in  New  York. 


THE   END. 


